Arkham Asylum
by dhalpin3
Summary: Been trying to come up with a Joker crossover for Illyana because… well just trying. I'm not a DC collector, but I do have some of the Batman stories (all Joker related). Always annoys me the fact that they get the Joker and just lock him up again so of course he can just get loose again to kill over and over and… well you get the picture. LordGrise is continuing the story at chap2
1. Chapter 1

**Arkham Asylum**

Author's note: Been trying to come up with a Joker crossover for Illyana because… well just trying. I'm not a DC collector, but I do have some of the Batman stories (all Joker related). Always annoys me the fact that they get the Joker and just lock him up again so of course he can just get loose again to kill over and over and… well you get the picture.

Then I realized that my annoyance could serve as a good, if brief, Illyana Joker story. In Illyana's world DC comics is just that… comics. But there are other universes…

 **Part 1a: Arkham**

It was late.

It was very stormy.

Of course the power was out (power was always going out).

Some of the alarms failed (home grown as nobody would bid on the contract).

And once again the Joker had broken out of his cell.

But this time, instead of escaping, or just doing fun things to the staff, the Joker wanted to play a new trick. One involving that strange amulet his crew had gotten off of that eccentric mystic old geezer of a dude and had smuggled in for him.

An odd golden medallion, had a figure of justice holding a balance but opened to show a pentagram with five empty holes. There was a note in Latin with it. The words apparently some kind of magical invocation requiring that the holes be filled with a blood sacrifice.

Fill it and she will come.

The dark child.

Ask and she must do.

Well, this had potential if only for a change of pace. Got to fight the boredom by whatever means necessary was one of Joker's axioms. That and prunes are good for you, keeps you regular (the Joker was obsessed with regularity).

Blood, ok nice that the establishment was always willing and eager to provide a steady flow of victims. Now serving guard number… um… oh badge number 639… Oh how unlucky for you my random friend.

Then a few fellow inmates liberated to help chant the words. Apparently four more were needed. So, eeny meeny miny moe, catch a bat by his hoe. If he moralizes then... **SLAUGHER EVERBODY!**

" _That's not how it goes Joker"_ complained Dr. Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter), _"It's if he hollers let him go"._

The joker replied in that weird voice of his. _"I like my version better. More fun"._

" _Yea, yea, yea, lets get on with it. Their bound to restore the power soon"._ Grumbled Harvey Dent (Two Face). _"Daddy wants out of here"._ Joker had agreed to help Dent escape if he participated in the little ritual.

" _This is all very unscientific"_ humph'd Dr. Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow). But it would be interesting to observe. The Joker was always… interesting. Why he even got to ghost write some scientific papers with some of the staff and the Joker was an endless fount of paper ideas.

Edward Nigma (The Ridler) asked some inane riddle involving cheese and a merry go-round. Everybody ignored him, which secretly just fueled his inner rage. Everybody always kissing up the Joker…

The guard was hoisted up by her feet and hung from the ceiling. Then her throat was cut.

" _Shame about the lack of squealing, always something missing when they don't cry and beg. It's just not the same without the squeal"_ mused the slightly disappointed Joker. Note to self, don't hit the sacrifice victim so hard on the head next time.

Dent painted the bloody pentagram on the floor, under the body and the widening pool of blood, while musing that the painting therapy had finally found a practical use, now if only it was that annoying Dr. Lehand...

Then each took some blood and let a drop drip from their hands into a spot on the medallion. The Joker then closed the medallion and shoved it into the now dead guard's mouth. Shame she died so… simply, her being a looker and all, bosom a bit small though for his tastes.

Then they all smeared blood on their hands and faces. Dent and Crane both thought that at this point this was all just an annoying prank by the Joker but played along because… well you really don't ever want to be on the Joker's… hmmm not bad side as he didn't really have a good side. You just don't ever want to make it onto any list he might be keeping.

They then took up positions at the tips of the pentagram and performed the ritual.

And goodie goodie gumdrops for them it worked. The emergency lighting faded down to just a dull glow and a voice was heard. A female voice spoke choked with rage and fury.

" _ **Who dares…"!**_

" _Avon calling dearie"._ Spoke the Joker. To be honest he wasn't fully sure that this was not one of his hallucinations, but no matter. He always treated everything like it was a hallucination anyway.

" _I want you to hurt the Bat. Hurt him in a way he's never been hurt before"!_

Two red pupil-less eyes appeared and glared at what they beheld.

" _Bat? Wait a second… You're the Joker! You're real? You mean… Batman exists"?!_

" _Real as a baseball bat enema deerie! Now go do as you're told"._

The temperature dropped quickly, like something was sucking the heat out of the room. And a figure materialized within the pentagram.

A classic female, blond. just under six feet tall with a generous D cup. She had goat legs, a long red devil's barbed tail that was flickering back and forth like a cat's tail, long sharp incisors, orange glowing pupil-less eyes, and horns. She was clothed in very scanty silver armor that really showed her form off.

" _Ohhh… Daddy like"._ Grinned the Joker. Then the gin vanished. _"Now go do as you're told like a bad little demon"._

The demon looked around the room and spoke, and with that the evil mood was kind of ruined.. _"You're Dent right? Two face? The nutcase who's always flipping a coin? Don't recognize the rest of you other then the Joker. Just where am I"?_

" _Arkham Asylum"_ relied Dent. He really wanted a knife to carve his anger into this… creature. Call him a nutcase…

" _Really"?_ The demon replied. _"And this was just some poor guard, just another in a long line of victims, right"?_

" _Um…. righto"._ Replied the Joker as he actually got a bit uneasy. None of the demon rising hallucinations before had ever been so… conversational or… female… or… like this.

" _And you're all mass killing psychopaths right? Even like to hurt and kill kids right"?_

" _Yes we are, now go hurt the Bat"!_ Shouted the Ridler.

The demon smiled a so not nice smile and a blazing sword of power appeared in her hands.

" _As you command"._

And the bat was hurt in a way he had never been hurt before.

 **Part 1b: Channel 11 Gorham all news every freaking moment of the day**

Arkham Asylum burnt to the ground last night. All the staff were saved, but all the incarcerated patients perished, even the notorious Joker.

" _It was a demon from hell! She came for them, for all of them"!_ Claimed many of the staff members and guards. Others claimed it was an angel of death. Either way the staff found themselves suddenly outside while strange fires consumed everything, stone, steel, everything.

As you can see from the sky cam drone, all that is left of Arkham Asylum is a smoking hole in the ground.

Avenging angel to some, nicked named Lady Death, is now both a wanted super villain and apparently a hero to most.

We now go to…


	2. Chapter 2

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: LordGrise has asked that he continue this story line. I've agreed and he has my blessings and my contributions but he is now the primary author so you will see a change in the writing style and the story. My chapter was just a one shot. His is a full story and I eagerly await its revealing. Why you ask? My Batman knowledge is very low and this has the potential to be one of those canvas stories (i.e. where Illyana is the canvases you paint your story upon, LordGrise has such knowledge).

LordGrise author's note: Well met, gentle readers. So Dhalpin writes this one-off, and I was offering curses and decrying the spiritual qualities of a writer who could drop something like that on Thanksgiving Day, inspiring entire scenes in my imaginaria… just as I have to attend an entire day of eating and socializing (dang, I hate it when I have to eat really good food and be with my entire extended family - as in, your friends are the family you choose… ::grin:: ) that prevents any expression of my musings. The response, in essence, was: I dare you. Okay. Game On.

 **Part 2a:**

The cavern echoed with the symphony of datasearching. Despite the fact that the sun had not yet set, the Master of the Batcave was in costume, cowl thrown back and breakfast cooling on the small table extruded from the side of the chair he sat in. On one screen, the latest iteration of the news was being rehashed for the umpteenth time: Arkham Asylum had burned, and if one thing was apparent, it was that the entire facility would have to be rebuilt from the ground up. The vast majority of the staff were safe, but many of the patients were unaccounted for. From there the reporting veered into the identities of the notable missing, their appearances both in and out of their costumes, and the statements of support coming in, both official and unofficial. The Justice League had offered their resources in efforts to recapture the assumed escapees, and had been declined with such haste that it was apparent the decision had been made before the offer had even been made. Only one reporter had had the temerity to mention the Batman, and that individual had not appeared in further reporting. It was already being bruited about among his colleagues that he had been sacked.

Several State and Federal agencies were well represented on the grounds of the now-former facility; for this one reason, Batman had not conducted his own investigations at the site as yet. He anticipated he might reasonably be able to visit the ruins within the next 36 hours... but that was not yet. That, however, did NOT mean he had nothing to work with. The various Agencies' agents' live transmissions, radio and cell phone both, initial reports, and in many cases raw-take data, were all flowing freely, and Batman had the relevant encryption keys for all of it. In addition, he had his own resources: among them the real time imagery of all of Arkham's security systems and the data from every spy satellite tasked with observation of the eastern seaboard of the United States. But as Alfred noted as he came down from the pantry, at the moment he was running - structural interpolations and air quality checks?

"Bruce, I've modeled the rubble every way I can: there's not enough of the high-security wing left." Barbara Gordon spoke in her Oracle voice, calm, dispassionate, an analyst reporting results. "I think we're looking at some kind of mass transport situation. Even if we went with one hundred percent compaction, which is nonsense, I'm still short by almost seventeen linear feet of thickness across that entire area of the field. Only way this works is if there was yet another hidden level beneath the place that we didn't know about..?"

Bruce's voice was introspective, his mind engaged upon the issue with a totality he never permitted himself when in the field. "Air quality checks are all wrong for a fire of the sort we might expect..." He leaned forward, and his computer inputs arpeggio'd across the cavern. "Abnormally high amounts of - volcanic ash? Oracle, recompute your models, using generic wood as the primary structural material."

"What?" Barbara did as she was instructed, even as she objected. "That's insane. Arkham was made of concrete and rebar, Bruce, you know that. Hell, It's oldest portions were made of granite. Wood made up less than fifteen percent of it's structure, and most of that was joists for the roof..." Her voice trailed off. "Nope. I get a much better match on remaining volume for the residential and office wings using these models, but there's still a huge volume missing in the high security areas. Even ignoring that, we still have the temperature anomalies - fire of that size, even allowing for transformation of the stone and concrete to wood, would have been so hot it should still be burning. It's not."

"No, it's not." Bruce's voice was no longer introspective, now that the Batman had something. "But the air quality checks across west Gotham and south of Gotham show abnormally high concentrations of what is being described as volcanic ash and dust, not wood ashes. I think the granite, and likely the concrete as well, either burned or disintegrated."

Oracle went to work with the new hypotheses, and in the Clock Tower holoscreens erupted across her entire dias as she initiated new runs. "Can't be chemical agents; the staff would never have survived. But the kind of temperatures needed to burn granite are in the range of fusion reactions; that presents it's own survival issues. Disintegrations... we have three possibilities, but two of them would emit radiations on a level with a nuclear explosion in a situation such as this - no way in hell that happened, we'd be at Defcon three at least, not to mention the survivors less than two hundred yards away. And the last is nanites, and we'd have an expanding crater as they continued to eat into the bedrock if that was the case. The STAR labs people checked for that anyway and came up negative."

Besides, all eyewitness reports are of fire - consuming the very stones...' Oracle was quiet a moment while she absorbed an eyewitness account. "Bruce, the second set of eyewitness reports are being posted to the FBI and NSA databases. They're unanimous that the place burned, which correlates with the gross visuals and initial reports. But several of the staff had cellphones, and one of them had the presence of mind to use one when it counted. We have imagery of our perp, I think."

The cellphone video was shaky, as might be expected of a man on the ragged edge of panicking, and ill-focused, nonetheless, it clearly showed a demonic figure complete with cloven hooves and the extra leg joint, horns, glowing yellow eyes without pupils, blond haired, wearing what appeared to be armor and holding a blazing longsword. She - it was definitely a her - was striding towards the one holding the cell phone. Behind her fires raged. She clearly saw the one filming, and pointed it's sword at said worthy. "Go. I have no quarrel with you. Out thru the hall, before it burns. Take the others with you." The voice was female, young, and was oddly flavored with an almost Russian accent.

The video abruptly jumped, and was a bit steadier when it resumed, clearly from the far end of the service parking lot. The kitchen end of the dining hall was completely involved in flame, and the demonic woman could be seen walking in the dining area. Fire erupted wherever she passed, starting with the tables and drapes before clearly eating into the walls as though they were made of paper Abruptly, she threw a table aside, and a figure clad in patient orange could be seen wriggling in her grip. For perhaps thirty seconds, she held her luckless captive as he shrieked and struggled, while she clearly shouted something. Oddly, she did not seem to be addressing her prisoner... and then she flourished her sword, and a blazing white disc flashed into existence behind and below him. Arms, inhumanly colored, muscled and clawed, reached forth eagerly from the disc - and if the man had been struggling before, whatever he saw thru the disc had him literally howling and trying to climb his captor's arm like a pole. She laughed, her fangs flashing and eyes blazing, and shook her arm as if divesting herself of a minor bother - and the hands were waiting for his fall, seizing him and pulling him thru. The disc disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and as the flames rose, the demoness was lost, but not before it was clear she was making her way back into the inferno that was the main building.

"God in Heaven." Barbara's voice echoed what was in Bruce's mind. "I told you. Mass transport situation. I'll bet you a cookie not one scrap of the high security cells is found, Bruce; I think she literally took entire cell blocks just like that, once whatever she unleashed on the structures had them burned free. If I'm right..." Computer keys rattled with machine gun speed, as she adjusted her models. "Yes. This fits. No wonder the place collapsed. Now she's trying to cover her tracks."

Bruce's voce sounded like it was made of rubble. "Can we identify the victim?"

Oracle's voice was crisp. "Not at this moment. I have a partial on his jumpsuit number, but only three digits, thanks to the way she grabbed him. Facial recognition is useless until I massage the imagery and allow for heat distortion and lighting interplay." Her voice softened slightly. "Bruce... I know you hate the 'M' word -"

Batman cut her off. "Understood on the facial recognition. We have imagery of the perpetrator; I'm posting to the Justice League, with copies to all allies and associates. Everyone patrols tonight; we need to know who survived. I want four Little Brown Bats on the Iceberg..."

 **Part 2b:**

Not even five minutes later, the answer came in the most irreverent of styles.

"Fuck, Oracle, is he screwing with us? That's Darkchilde from the video games!" Gar Logan was frankly unbelieving. "We heard about Arkham from the news, the team's all here waiting for the word - is this some kind of training exercise or something to keep us out of Gotham?"

Barbara winced, knowing Bruce was still on-line with her and hearing every word. "No, he is not 'screwing' with you, Beast Boy. And you should moderate your tone and words! You know half the world listens to us - "

Gar was on a roll and not stopping for anything that feeble. "Oracle, I'm encrypted, you're encrypted, and if anyone can hear us, they likely want to ask the same questions! That's almost shot for shot from the cut-scene between acts six and seven in the game _X-Men vs. Avengers: The Raft!_ What is this?"

Oracle's voice returned to it's normal crispness. "That video you saw was uploaded forty two minutes ago by Special Agent Erphiss , from the Arkham site. It was shot by a kitchen supervisor. This is not a joke or a training exercise, Garfield. Now, who is Darkchilde?"

Gar played along, more certain than ever this was some sort of test. "Well, she's actually a comic book character. She's a interdimensional - teleporter..." His mind raced off after the squirrel. "Oh man, this is great! Illyana Rasputin, in the flesh! Here? And we get to fight her? This! Is! Awesome!" Gar paused for breath, and Batman broke in.

"Beast Boy, get ahold of yourself! Arkham Asylum is in ruins!" The level of authority Batman projected with his voice literally bowled Beast Boy over. "Over three hundred inmates and staff, including the entire high security population, are currently missing! Now, what are you talking about?"

A few minutes later, Bruce could feel a headache coming on. Trying to keep Beast Boy on topic was an exercise in frustration, not least of which was because every odd side bar he indulged in eventually yielded a tidbit that was relevant. On a side screen, Bruce could see the file Oracle was building, and his headache grew. _She's wasting time. Even if this - whatever it is, mutant? Demon? How does a human become a demon anyway? - answers to these names and titles, the information we can glean from twenty odd years of comic books and associated media is going to be so fragmentary and contradictory that none of it can be trusted._ He decided to cut to the chase.

"Garfield. Assuming this rather absurd hypotheses, why is she doing this?" He asked.

Beast boy scratched his head. "Umm… no idea. She's, um, not crazy in the comics so much as… damaged. See, she died years and years ago in the comics and was never actually brought back. Then Marvel relaunched some old comic lines and she was the core of that relaunch." Beast Boy visibly thought back. "This pedophilic demon lord named Belasco who had originally kidnapped her to his hell dimension brings her back… well, he tries to. All he ends up is the dark parts of her without a soul, so he drives her away. We're talking a comic book here though, so there's this huge implied subplot of massive abuse, which has been written about in a bunch of fan fiction, but nobody really knows the details."

"Pedophile?" If Batman's voice had been grim before, now it was cold and grim. The more Beast Boy babbled, the less Batman liked the picture being painted.

"Yeah." Beast Boy answered soberly. "Her backstory is really horrifying if you read between the lines. Like, she was killing things as a kid in self defense set-ups, kind of damned if you do, dead if you don't type of choices. Think what Raven went thru and kick it way way up." Beast Boy swallowed, and it was plain he was liking what he was relating less and less now that he was thinking about it. "She even had to kill folks she loved and she was only twelve… um… in her defense she was in hell at the time… assuming that the comic is actually her reality."

Batman leaned back. "So she's insane."

Beast Boy shook his head. "No, see, that's just the thing. Damaged, not crazy. But some of the things that don't make sense to others, makes perfect sense to her." He changed to an octopus for a moment and stretched off-camera, and returned to humanoid form clutching a soda. "But killing doesn't mean much to her."

Batman's face became expressionless. "So she's a villain."

Beast Boy shook his head again. "No, Batman. She's - actually a kind of dark hero in the comics. She's always trying to do the right thing, even if she can't quite figure out what that might be, and being misunderstood as to her actions. Of course, she almost never explains herself, because no one ever listens."

Batman had his response hovering on the tip of his tongue: _Heroes don't kill._ Except he knew full well that some did on occasion, including at least two core members of the Justice League. He let it go; it wasn't worth berating the young hero. Besides, as far as he knew, Beast Boy never had. "None of this explains what she is doing here, assuming that she actually exists. It is far more logical to assume this is just a front that somebody is hiding behind, that this is some entity that is looking like this comic book character, behaving like this comic book character, for some tactical or strategic advantage."

Beast Boy's expression showed precisely what he thought of that idea; he looked like he smelled something really bad. Then he perked up as an idea occurred to him. "Maybe she isn't here of her own free will? She showed up at Arkham, that must be some kind of clue. Maybe somebody there… um… summoned her?"

 _Magic again._ Batman sought useful facts. "Weaknesses? Powers?"

"Ahhh… shit. She… kind of doesn't have any. Weaknesses, that is. At least here. When she was alive her friend Kitty and her brother Peter were her moral center. Since she's been brought back Kitty is gone and she avoids her brother so she… um… might not actually have that anymore. Powers? She can teleport in this reality pretty much line of sight, I guess; she has to have some idea of where she's going, or bad things can happen, like being off-target in time. Her mind can't be read, even by the most powerful telepaths of her universe. She rules an entire hell dimension, which is called Limbo, but is different than the classic Limbo, okay? She can rain minions down across a huge area, except they're not the cute yellow capsule guys, they're more like parademons without the tech. Same bad attitudes, though…"

Batman clenched a fist. _Better and better…_

Beast Boy saw the gesture and got back on topic - at higher RPM. "She's the Sorceress Supreme of her realm, that means she has almost total control over reality when she'd home - but she doesn't have anything like that anywhere else - but she still has massive amounts of magic! Uhm, that she doesn't always use, she likes to throw fights to get places she needs to be. Ah, she likes fire - yeah, I guess you know that, uhm, she has this blazing soul sword, that can kill magical beings. Oh, I forgot, she's supposed to have killed at least one Elder God, Batman; they're sort of these Chthulhulian things, but that was in her own realm, or in theirs, I forget; it wasn't here. Or on her Earth, I mean. Oh and she has different forms, she's not always in her demon form although she is always the strongest when she is in her Darkchilde form…' Beast Boy ran down, and then offered his summation. "In the comic books her code name is Magik with a 'k'. And no, she didn't pick the name. The rest is kinda unknown as different writers show her with different levels of abilities."

 _All the rest, indeed. Like this isn't enough._ Batman thought. "Why would she care about anything here? Why would she stay?"

Beast boy shrugged. "I don't know. You'll have to ask her. I can tell you that, if we're right, and this is Magik from the comics, she _will_ have a reason. And it'll be a good one. But getting her to tell might be… hard."


	3. Chapter 3

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: Ahh, the third chapter from LordGrise. I so like Illyana fic, and being the largest writer of such fic (odd kind of achievement) I heartily encourage all writers to put Illyana in their stories at least once. Folks, she travels space and time, always an opportunity to add her to your stories. And one can always alter the circumstances to restrict her powers. Come on, write something, I double dare you.

LordGrise took the dare and is creating something oh so fun.

 **Part 3a:**

Illyana crouched atop a gargoyle on the top of a skyscraper and absently noted the distinct lack of accreted mildew or pollution under her feet. _I'm not the only one who stops by here..._ she thought absently. That was fine; she was going to have to make contact with them sooner or later. But she wasn't ready just yet. So thinking, she idly surveyed the night that was Gotham, eighty stories up. Ink dark alleyways, moonbeam reflections upon water on the roads. Traffic noises much like wind at this late hour, and the horns were distant. The distant roar of jets hadn't changed, though. She found herself appreciating the view. Her New York was tower after tower of pristine, faceless, characterless glass. _These_ buildings had personalities.

The IMPF (Improper Mutant Penetration Facilitation) software/enchantment that she and Kitty had written all those long years ago was running, and Illyana was invisible. A collection of SQL, Python, and magic symbols that would freak out any security analyst who might ever have an opportunity to gaze upon the actual source code, or enchantment as Illyana viewed it, it worked and worked well, even in this new world. She knew this by the lack of reflection in the mirrored glass behind her, and the lack of a shadow on the gargoyle.

"Gotham, a city of contrasts" Illyana read aloud from Datapedia on her new WayneTech cell phone. Fortunately, gold talked loudly here, as it did almost everywhere commerce ruled; the pawn shop jeweler had been delighted to give her thirty cents on the dollar for her little pouch of flaked gold. She had been amused by his poorly concealed cupidity even as she had played young and blonde. The currency he had given her looked pretty much the same as back home. Prices seemed about as she might expect - and burner phones were still burner phones, and pizza was still pizza. But other things were not the same at all, and it was critical she learn what they were if she was to extricate herself from the mess she was in. Hence, recent history.

Bruce Wayne was engaged to Selina Kyle. That was a stunner. Illyana's mind blanked as she realized she potentially held more secrets about the movers and shakers, political and metahuman, of this world than most of those who prided themselves on knowing such things. The trick was going to be telling what secrets were true - and not disturbing them unnecessarily. Illyana could feel it, that desire to change things just because she could, to right wrongs only she and a handful of others knew of. She could do this because she didn't belong here, and no attribution was possible against her because not only no one knew who she was, but she wasn't staying. So consequences could be damned, because it wasn't possible for them to stick to her...

 _So this is what it's like to sit and brood_. Illyana thought. _Rather distracting. I suppose it is expected behavior for the Batsies though. This is a prime spot to do so._ She wondered if the animated scene with Wonder Woman and Batman on a rooftop had happened in this reality. _Probably not._

On that thought, she consulted her cell phone and input her own name - and grimaced. _What is sauce for the gander is good for the goose..._ Apparently in this world she was a media property, a comic book and video game character. All her secrets, potentially laid bare for all to know, for entertainment... She took a deep breath, and swallowed rage. It was just as likely that anything 'known' about her in this world was just as accurate as anything she thought she knew. Her anonymity was still at least as good as Batman's was...

"Good evening."

Illyana turned her head and regarded the individual standing a few feet away on the retaining wall: female, slim, young, pale, dressed entirely in black, relieved only by a silver ankh. Illyana felt calm descend upon her as she realized just what was addressing her. "It's not my time yet." Her eyes widened as she realized she had said what she had been thinking. "I beg your pardon, that was rude. Good evening. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Not at all, you were refreshingly honest!" her visitor smiled. "And you're quite right, it's not. I just wanted to know if you were going to return all the souls. Saves me from having to look for them if you plan on keeping them."

Illyana felt herself smile in spite of herself. "I have no intention of keeping them long." She answered. "Indeed, the first ones should already have been returned, still incarnate. I instructed 'no marks' upon those who didn't meaningfully resist. I hope I have not inconvenienced you?"

Her visitor grinned, teeth brilliantly white. "If you had, you would know. Now, my brother, he is quite intrigued. You weren't in his book, and that is vanishingly rare."

Illyana shrugged. "Well, I wasn't here until a little while ago."

"This is Truth! Welcome to Here! Ciao!" and with that, Illyana's visitor jumped off the side and was gone.

The noises of the city resumed. Illyana mentally shook herself. _Did that just happen...?_ Next time she was going to try brooding, it was going to be somewhere that had music, hot tea, and lemon cake If Gotham were anything like New York back home, there had to be decent lemon cake around town somewhere... so thinking, she again consulted her new cellphone.

In the Batcave, in the Clock Tower, and elsewhere, data triangulation pattern software showed radio frequency activity on a well frequented gargoyle. Knowing where her team was, and wasn't, Oracle detailed one of her many drones, known to her and her team as Little Brown Bats, to go have a look...

 **Part 3b:**

In Raven's suite at Titan's Tower, Raven calmly prepared herself for what was to come.

Much had happened in ten years. The defeat and destruction of Trigon's avatar in this reality had resulted in Raven garnering all that Trigon had invested in this reality. The unflinching love and support of her life-partner Beast Boy (even after ten years he had not officially changed the name) in the aftermath had enabled her to finally free herself of her crippling fears, and claim her future as rightfully hers. The Titans now stood as defenders of the West Coast, even as Clan Batman, the de facto Batman Incorporated, protected the East Coast.

Indeed, the Titans could be considered to be a spun-off franchise of the original Batman Incorporated; Robin, and then Nightwing had led them, until he had returned to the East Coast, and focused on Bludhaven. Certainly Bruce Wayne's money that had financed them for years - until the Titans captured a laptop belonging to the Church of Blood. Using it, Oracle and Cyborg had been able to access and locate the Church's mainframes. Six weeks of covertly chasing the money trails, locating bases and caches, identifying bank accounts and supporters, the front businesses, the DBAs, and all the endless transfers had resulted in the Church of Blood becoming utterly compromised. Oracle and Batman had argued, and then the Justice League had argued... but in the end, everyone conceded that if the Church of Blood's monetary assets were not immediately re-addressed and put to use, that the Church of Blood could and would recover them. And thus, the new Batman Incorporated came into being, using funds that could never be traced back to Wayne Enterprises, and with the core membership of the Justice League as the Board of Governors. The mountains of evidence relating back to decades of unimaginable crimes and horrors had been publicly revealed - forcing the Church of Blood into desperation moves. Superheroes and law enforcement organizations around the globe had been forewarned and stood ready, and the Church of Blood lost almost everything. Splinters and cultist cells still existed - but all coordination had been lost. There was every reason to believe that, with diligent follow-thru, the Church of Blood would, in time, cease to exist entirely.

It was in that vein of thought that Raven found herself. Even before the news had filled with reports of the disaster that had unfolded at Arkham Asylum, Raven had known something was happening. She hadn't been sure what... but the candles in her rooms had ignited spontaneously, and the shadows had gathered in her suite, responsive to their summoning in ways they were not so many years ago. Silently she queried them... and their responses were not reassuring.

 _Raven..._ they whispered. _We hear you. Someone NEW has entered this reality. She is from Elsewhere, very far as such things are reckoned. She walks the worlds, as you might; she is not here by choice, and she refuses to consummate her summoner's instructions and free herself. Her reasons are her own..._

The whispers had been accompanied by echoes of mocking laughter she knew only too well. She could guess who had summoned this new entity here... and her intuition told her who had enabled him to do so. She had to agree with Beast Boy; the imagery of the demoness striding in the flames did look uncannily like the video game character he and Cyborg had contested with so many times... but he/she/it was still an Unknown Subject, an UNSUB. It was Raven's intention to render that designation less appropriate.

So thinking, she gestured, and her tarot deck came to hover before her. She rose into her preferred meditation position, levitating effortlessly... and her deck flowered before her, the cards smoothly enveloping her in a myriad of orbits even as they turned and rotated. Patiently, she waited... and the cards came together into a deck once more, leaving only a handful still in motion. One by one they came to her hand, and she spread them before her.

 _The Page of Wands, reversed._ The most important aspect of the subject of the reading, the aspect that all else was driven by: The UNSUB was not in the situation she was in by choice. The UNSUB could be counted on to resist that situation to her utmost. Raven considered that second thought a moment... and in her mind's eye, a feminine face turned towards her, with horns, eyes of lambent power, hair like flame, and a sense that in this case, 'utmost' had best be considered in extreme terms. Even as she saw this, Raven felt her cloak coil about her, and her hood come up to shadow her own eyes. Raven knew in that moment that the subject of her reading was seeing her, and Raven's face became it's emotionless mask even as her eyes filled with the lunar glow of her own quintessence. It was as if her subject was in some way present for the reading...

Unbidden, the second card turned, beginning the Circle of Time. _Six of Wands_. The UNSUB was a veteran in the truest sense of the term: She had survived combat so many times and in so many ways that survival was the mute testimony of the breathtaking level of experience and power required. Across the cards, the UNSUB smirked, now a young woman dressed in a black and yellow jumpsuit. She nodded, and the next card turned.

 _Five of Wands_. Conflict and competition, and the impression of a desperately important, overarching goal beset by what seemed like a million minor and not-so-minor hindrances. A golden locket spun on a chain from the young woman's fingers, and Raven knew it was key to unraveling the current situation and putting the immediate issues to rights. Raven reminded herself that the lens thru which all else must be viewed was the stark fact that whatever the situation was, Illyana was not involved by choice. With that thought, the name came to Raven's lips. "Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina..."

Across the cards from Raven, Illyana smiled and also rose into a position of levitation. "Yes. The next card, please."

 _The Hierophant._ Raven gasped in horror at the image revealed. A cultured, elegant entity of daemonic aspect, dressed richly, and whose eyes promised that he would teach every twisted, evil thing he knew, whether the pupil wanted the knowledge or not whether the pupil would survive or not, and would enjoy doing so in every carefully measured sadistic detail. Raven looked up, and Illyana's face was a mask, and beneath it, a desperately wounded young woman writhed in expectation of utter rejection.

Raven picked up the card, and held it facing Illyana, knowing as she did so that it now showed Trigon in all his malevolent glory. "I understand. I, too, have suffered likewise." She laid the card back down, noting in passing that its image was now divided equally between the two Dark hierophants whose lessons informed the two young women. "Thus is the past portrayed. We pass into the present."

 _Four of Cups, reversed_. Raven could sense the volatility of the moment, universes of factors spinning so very, very close to coming into a blindingly unexpected moment of alignment, of opportunity. Across the reading, it appeared Illyana could feel it too. The next card turned.

 _The World, reversed_. Raven said the first thing that came to her mind, hearing it in eerie two-part harmony as Illyana said the very same thing at the very same time. "No one does it all alone." Raven sensed from Illyana a mental inventory of options, and knew that the consequences of those options were unacceptable to her querent... that Illyana was, in a word, constrained. And had been for a very long time.

Raven wondered at that, and the next card turned with a sense of inevitability.

 _Five of Pentacles, reversed_. Illyana thought bitterly of all that she commanded, all that she could throw into play at any time - and all the many, many reasons that to do so would be calamity upon disaster upon catastrophe. Raven countered without thinking. "This is your present shading into your future, and your current situation is not what it was. Awaken to what might be."

The next card turned, as if Raven's words had set it in motion. _Justice, reversed._ Illyana's frustration became sickened rage at the sight of it. Illyana spoke in Russian, low and bitter. "It is the nightmare all over again: Prejudice, infamy, the very sight of me will turn all against me...".

Raven looked upon the cloven hooved demonic alter-form that was the Dark Child across the spread with equanimity, for she had the measure of the person within, and was not afraid. She spoke in the same language without thinking. "Not all, for I see you, sister. You must demonstrate that they are wrong, and trust that they will see it so." Raven's hand reached out to the next card, already beginning to turn as the shadow of her hand passed over it. "Thus are shown your present circumstances. We turn now to your future."

 _Nine of Pentacles, reversed._ Illyana's emotions quieted as she regarded the card and contemplated its' potential meanings. "The struggle to maintain oneself will continue, as it ought, and will not end here." She murmured.

Raven agreed, wordlessly. Given the present circumstances and the overall situation, how could it be otherwise? She reached forth to the next card.

 _Six of Cups, reversed._ Illyana's emotions began to boil again, but Raven reached out a hand. "Consider its position, and what has come before. Why should you be upset? You must do that which comes hardest, Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina: You must trust. Trust that those who will come to judge you will see what you have done, and not done. Your future depends upon this."

 _The Fool, reversed._ "Reinforcing what we already have." Raven murmured. Illyana looked upon the spread, and found herself agreeing. Her current situation was new, and she was hesitant as to how to go about engaging it. She knew she was being watched by some of the most powerful entities of this reality. But ready or not, the situation was what it was, and she had to engage it.

 _Six of pentacles_. Raven gazed upon the card, and felt the moment of alignment as it silently reverberated. No words were needed, she saw; Illyana knew the meaning of the card as well as she did: Reciprocity. One earned what one invested. The cards gathered themselves up and flowed back into Raven's deck as she looked up. "We will meet in Gotham."


	4. Chapter 4

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: Ahh the next installment. I've contributed some small content as I read what LordGrise has written and then write some small snippets that LordGrise sometimes finds that he can make use of. But most of this is his work and of course his plot.

I do so love what he is crafting. In most stories it is hard to have Illyana at the full extent of her powers as then the story tends to be over rather quickly. Take the current X-Men vs. the Inhumans as a classic example. To be honest Illyana could likely take them all down by just relocating them all to Limbo. But that would defeat the purpose of having a massive Marvel crossover where everybody gets to participate (and of course we end up having some odd plots as unlikely situations happened where fans say _"I can't believe they have XXX taken down by YYY_ ". Not to mention Editorial attempts to highlight specific characters that fans don't care for).

Well, not here! Enjoy the next installment, I certainly did.

 **Part 4a:**

Beast Boy had paper plates and an ice bucket with two of everyone's favorite drinks set up when the other Titans entered the living room, having completed their mission: Get Food!

"I guess you all heard that earlier, huh?"

Jinx was the first to answer, as she took her accustomed corner seat on the horseshoe sofa. Slim and willowy, her head permanently depilated except for her trademark braided queue in gorgeous shades of blue and purple, she was one of the three that had escaped the clutches of the Justice Lords. No one would mistake her for her deceased super-criminal counterpart native to this reality however; ten years of personal development had lent her a very different appearance, particularly her tattoos, of which she had many. "You could say that. I think the entire floor heard it. Maybe the hangar as well..." She smiled, and accepted a slice of pepperoni pizza from Ravager.

Ravager snorted as she leaned on the arm next to Jinx and took a bite of her own slice. Her helmet - she had gotten away from her father's styles years before, and her suit was thoroughly modern now - hung from her waist. Her red hair, pixie cut to accommodate the helmet, reflected in the faceplate. "Batman is an asshole. You give him intel, and he doesn't even say thanks. Just disconnects."

Terra, the second of the dimensional refugees, sighed as she settled at the other end, drawing her legs in, and began to unwrap her burger. She was clad in body armor not unlike Ravager's, but where Ravager used a chainmail motif, Terra's armor had a leather like look, in a dark grey. The contrasting color was a dark vegetative green. Her hair was also in a pixie cut. "It isn't just that. He doesn't trust us, and he never has."

Garth - Beast Boy if you wanted to be formal - stood and rubbed the back of his neck. "It isn't just us. He doesn't trust anyone, except maybe Nightwing and Oracle... and even then, I bet he has protocols." His voice and build clashed with his leadership role; he had not physically changed in twenty years. He still appeared to be sixteen years old and mildly underdeveloped. Many of his habits and behaviors hadn't really changed either; he could still eat an entire large pepperoni pizza in four bites - without changing shape.

Starfire came to stand by him, and gently eased her hands under his to begin massaging. "It still hurts?" Garth had nearly had his head torn off by an aging Gorilla Grodd, before Garth had metamorphosed into a creature out of nightmare with far too many tentacles and teeth. Grodd hadn't been expecting it... And he has lost definitively.

"Just stiff." Garth answered. "I was fine until Batman made me jump and I went over backwards. Just hasn't passed off yet."

Gizmo slid over on her grav-lifters and scanned. "Just a bit of swelling there still, BB... but you haven't re-injured anything. "She drifted over and snagged her salad, her grav-lifters smoothly rotating around to make a convenient tray for her before taking her to her accustomed place by the roof out of the way. From the waist up, she looked little like her criminal namesake in this reality, being an attractive young woman. But she was even more dependant on her equipment for mobility than the deceased Gizmo had been: When she had activated the gate that allowed her, Jinx, and Terra to escape, she had been perhaps a quarter second too late in triggering the self destruct, and the Justice Lords' Superman had incinerated her legs from just above the knees down. He would have had more time to do a more thorough job, but their Beast Man had stood rearguard for them, and had paid the ultimate price via that heat vision as well.

"Two more reasons he doesn't trust us is too many of us are from _way_ out of town, and too many of us have history of changing sides for whatever reason." Around the room, small smiles and nods acknowledged the bit of insight. More than a third of the Titan's membership were from other realities, wherein they had been hunted for being heroes - but their temporal analogs in this reality had all been villains.

"It doesn't matter." Garth's voice was calm and gently assertive. "He gets like this when things are out of control - and having umpty-'leven supervillain psychos unaccounted for likely has his skin crawling. I can just imagine how the GCPD must be feeling..." So saying, he picked up two slices of the pepperoni pizza and made a sandwich of them before taking a - for him - relatively small bite.

"Garth..." Raven's voice was soft over the intercom. "Please contact the Justice League; Nightwing and Oracle will be busy tonight. We - I - we need to go to Gotham, soon. I have been in psychic contact with Magik, and if we do not... I fear matters may go very badly indeed."

Garth winced. "I'll make the call, Raven... but remember what happened last time. I doubt we'll hear anything before whatever time dawn is in Gotham."

Raven's voice was amused. "We have that much time? Whatever will we do...?"

Smiles and chuckles filled the room as Garth picked up Raven's food and the box holding the remnants of the first pepperoni pizza. "You're going to have dinner first. You'll need your strength...

Ravager grinned wickedly. "Cross him off monitor duty for the night. Okay, anyone need sleep, go get some. Otherwise - " The room erupted with laughter. Ravager shook her head as she realized her gaffe...

 **Part 4b:**

Amanda Waller sat in her office and maintained a poker face as Senator Horcross, the new Chairman for the Joint Sub-Committee for Secret Intelligence demonstrated - once again - his recurring need for a reality check. 'Director, I don't see what the problem is. According to this report you have a lot of information about this woman. Why can't you capture her and use her for your Task Force X?'"

Waller took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was a model of decorum and professionalism. "Sir, you apparently have been misinformed. We have no hard data at all, beyond what has been determined at the incident site. What we have is a pair of junior analysts who do not work for me, but rather for JCAS; they took the imagery and ran a full data search with no filters." She sighed and allowed her expression one degree of professional regret for the misplaced enthusiasm of junior personnel. "I place no faith or reliability upon what that search has turned up. Please tell me that search has not become briefing materials?"

The Senator's expression visibly cooled, his displeasure for the antics of ill-controlled underlings legendary. "I can't do that, Amanda. It has."

Waller remained the professional bureaucrat, even as internally she heaved a sigh of relief. _I'm not the messenger on this one._ "Sir, the vast majority of that data is focused on, quite literally, a comic book character. The remnant is focused upon the computer gaming version of the same character. Surely you must understand we cannot place any weight upon this?"

Horcross tried to rally. "But from what we have seen of the footage, she does match the capabilities of that character!"

Waller nodded. "I am aware of that, sir. That could be coincidence, or it could be the deliberate mimicry of an extra-dimensional being. You are familiar with the entity that calls itself Mxyzptlk?"

The Senator squinted, suspicious of the change in the conversation. "Vaguely. Some creature who seems obsessed with Superman?"

"Yes, sir. I offer that as an example of what other dimensional entities can seem to be. It took my predecessor agency years to build anything remotely resembling a reliable dossier." Wordlessly she gestured at the files on her desk. "What is known, is that Arkham Asylum is a total loss. And it seems to have been done by magic." Her voice was unflinching as she pronounced the 'm' word. "Task Force X does not have good contacts with that aspect of the meta community. So we are somewhat hampered in that respect."

Senator Horcross played the only card he had left. "Well can't this woman, the Enchantress, deal with the culprit?"

Waller shook her head. _He already knows the answer to this one, essentially, or he wouldn't be asking_. "Sir, the Enchantress, upon seeing the video, screamed, and voluntarily reverted to Ms. Moon. She now apparently is not willing to manifest." She gave that a moment to sink in. "We have no means of forcing her to do so. Ms. Moon reports the Enchantress is terrified, to the point of incoherency. I have ordered Ms. Moon secured, as a precaution against trickery."

The elder statesman spread his hands. "So she won't help? I know you use other means to... convince these people. Won't they work on her?"

Waller's voice was firm, a commander relaying a known limitation of her command. "No sir. We have certain safeguards in place to assure compliance and security of the task force members, but Enchantress is essentially a spirit rather than a corporeal being. My leverage with her is limited to when she is physically manifested." She switched subjects. "Sir... The assessment Section Twelve provided with the JCAS data is not encouraging. Are you familiar with it?"

The Senator became remote. "That did not make it into today's briefing materials, no."

Waller nodded as she took possession of the metaphorical football. "Section Twelve's assessment took the JCAS products at face value, in order to provide a worst case scenario. If it is to be believed, this entity would be on a level with Trigon, or Darkseid: A dimensional ruler capable of interdimensional transit of itself or other resources at will." She picked up the document she had been reading when the call had come in. "We have some idea of what it wants, however. It has released twenty six of the high security staff members, in two packages, both at the incident site. The second release was just four hours ago, and debriefing is still in progress. What we have, though, is consistent with all the staff members. It seems those who do not resist or lie to their interrogators are being released essentially unharmed, at least physically. Exposure and deprivation issues are present in all of them; they were neither fed nor watered during their imprisonment. PTSD symptoms are likely in at least some of them..."

"Well? What does it want? Horcross's voice was peremptory.

Waller's voice was expressionless. "The entity wants to know about a golden locket, and it wants to know who provided the summoning ritual Joker used to bring it here."

The career politician leaned forward, scenting data he could club the other members of the select committee with. "How many of the patients have been released?"

Waller mentally raised an eyebrow at the Senator's question, and then dismissed the unformed thought; the question was legitimate. "None, sir. The repatriated detainees are all staff members. More troubling is their timepieces are showing very different elapsed times since capture. Days of difference in some cases. That, however, is consistent with Section Twelve's report." She paused to ensure the next datum was accurate. "The patients are not being kept in the same region as the staff members. However, we have multiple reports that certain patients are being actively tortured, particularly Joker."

The Senator snorted. "Cry me a river." He paused. "How is this known, may I ask?"

"Eyewitness accounts, Senator. The Joker is being multiply reported as having been crucified." Waller said with equanimity.

Horcross leaned back in his chair. "Probably thinks it's funny... Director Waller, let's be candid here: what do you propose to do about this entity, as you call it?"

Waller's voice was crisp. "At the moment, continue to examine the remnants of Arkham Asylum, and try to refine our intel, Senator. I have no leads in our reality. Now, if it should manifest again...? Call in the Justice League, and be prepared for _major_ property damage."

It would be fair to say that the Senator was croggled. "Are - are you serious, Amanda? It's that bad?"

Waller continued in the same tone of voice, with no hint of how ill-tasting her words were to her. "Senator... you know the score. I have a dozen B-List meta criminals. They make decent deniable-action teams. But not on their very best day could the lot of them hope to stand against something like this, if half of what is in Section 12's assessment is accurate." _Not to mention I'd be very concerned the entity would co-opt them_ went unsaid. But it hung there between them.

The Senator nodded, understanding what he was being told. "Very well, Director Waller. And if the Justice League were to capture this entity?"

 _Put a bullet thru its head immediately, before it came to!_ was Waller's first thought. "I would have very grave doubts as to the viability of the control mechanisms available to us here, Senator. I would recommend the League maintain custody off-world, pending transfer to the Green Lantern Corps."

Senator Horcross pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Thank you for your time, Director." The screen went blank.

 **Part 4c:**

This was way beyond simple fear. It was stark terror.

The Mafiyasa stank of it, and complete lack of hygiene as well. They all reeked as if they hadn't bathed in days. Of course, if their stories were true... they hadn't.

In a world of superheroes, the police were used to thugs and criminals groveling in fear. Groveling and begging, but not the Russians. And especially not for protection.

"PLEASE! Please don't let her take me again!" All of them were offering variations on that theme.

The sergeant asked the restaurant owner to recount his tale again, as the sergeant was late to the party. "Ok, start from the beginning. Just what exactly happened here"?

ONE HOUR EARLIER

 _Good_ Borscht. That was Illyana's main thought. Hearty, hot, thick, and filling. Soup it might be on the menu, but the chunks of beef and sausage amid the vegetables made it flirt with stew... not that Illyana was complaining.

She was having supper at an ethnic Russian restaurant called Yorgies! in the Russian emigrant district; little Moscow being the districts' nickname. Not a hole in the wall kind of place; more the kind of restaurant the locals cherished and no one else knew about. Ambiance a negotiable five due to clutter and busyness, food a solid nine. The small dining room had authentic fixtures and the furniture, while worn, was clean and comfortable. The place had the scents of beeswax polish, properly cooked cabbage, and pan fried meats. Currently just Illyana and one other group of people were eating.

Soup, fresh black bread warm from the oven, and hot black tea. Warm and filling. Just like Mama…

And with that her mood went from happy consumer of good home food to… something dark. Very dark. For a moment, her eyes flared, the lighting darkened in her immediate presence, and her silhouette grew horns. Memories of a lost home, of a childhood stolen and literally raped away, in more ways than one. Of a time when… when she was not as she had become. Illyana pushed the unwelcome recollections back into the mental closet they had come from. She tore a chunk of bread, dipped it into her soup, and savored it. The taste was still delicious, and she found herself calming. She was still alive, and things were not as they had been.

Behind the one way mirror between the dining room and the kitchen, Grandmother Ilona murmured a prayer. Mafiya who likely wouldn't pay the bill were bad enough, but what was this...!

In the dining room, the group suddenly became an annoying disturbance to Illyana's enjoyment. Apparently the Rassolnik cucumber soup was not sufficiently salty, and the group, consisting of four beefy looking men and two women, was seizing on that as an opening to complain. In the way of bullies everywhere, they built on each other in the abuse they offered so freely. All apparently spoke Russian and all were loudly rebuking the owner, whom Illyana concluded must be the eponymous Yorgie, and likely his son and daughter, both under age.

Yorgie himself was angry and fearful; his children were absolutely radiating fear bordering on terror. _I _need_ to keep a low profile_ , the cold, planning aspect of Illyana thought with no little irritation. And then, another thought occurred. _One earns what one invests._

Illyana spoke in Russian without raising her voice, yet all heard. "Be quiet, little mice and leave them be. There was nothing wrong with your food. You certainly ate enough of it

The thin female of the bunch turned and shouted at Illyana with a snarl. "Who are you talking to, cunt!"

Illyana smiled back. "Why, you lot, of course. Unless there is some other group of mouse's assholes present that I can't see."

The group quickly surrounded Illyana's table and pushed away the owner who to his credit had tried to get between Illyana and the group. One of the beefy men spoke. "This one needs a lesson in respect."

This statement did not appear to alarm Illyana. She noisily slurped some soup, a deliberately disrespectful slurp as Elizabeth and the Bennets had trained slurping out of her oh so long ago.

Illyana smiled, and even the least intelligent of the group then knew fear. "Yes, you do need to learn. Little. Mice." The leader of the group reflexively raised a hand as if to slap Illyana to the floor. There was a flare of light underneath the table and all of the group. A moment later it was just Illyana at her table eating the last of her soup.

Bubbe Ilona bustled out of the kitchen. Yorgie looked upon her with confusion as she exiled him and the children to the kitchens: they could manage things in there, and she was older and therefore more expendable if things went badly. Thank all the Old Gods their mother was not present.

Illyana smiled upon Grandmother Ilona and asked courteously, still in Russian, for desert: blini with sour cream and blueberry Varenya sauce, and perhaps a bit more tea...? As she did, she passed Ilona a pair of coins. Ilona felt her heart lurch as she recognized Czar Nicholas' head on the gold coins.

"I hope that covers their bill, grandmother? I did take them before they could pay."

END INTERLUDE

Barbara Gordon, AKA Oracle, sipped tea and took note as her filtering routines presented her with a police report correlating with a cluster of 72 hr admits at Mercy General. The group all showed moderate symptoms of exposure and dehydration, together with abundant signs of physical abuse. The filters had caught the admits because they were all known associates of a known Mafiya member. As she scanned the police report, she stiffened at the physical description of the associated UNSUB: slim, blonde, young, female... speaking Russian. She clicked open a comm channel.

"Nightwing. I have a yen for Russian... at Yorgie's. See what's good tonight. Ask them what happened earlier."

"And the perps"? Inquired Oracle, over the same borscht and black bread Illyana had enjoyed earlier.

"They all returned when she was done eating, before she left." Nightwing responded. "According to the daughter they were crying and begging. The young woman then asked the big one something, he answered, and then she left and they called the GCPD. They couldn't tell what, and neither could I; she knows camera angles, she pulls his head out of the frame. Here's the security download."

The two superheroes watched while they ate as the incident played out. At the end, one and all, the thugs were on their knees begging after Illyana left. One in particular responded to an unheard question, and the two heroes were easily able to lip read the response.

"Because otherwise they… they said she'd be back for me and… and it would be permanent this time. That I got just one chance. I don't want to be like the Joker."

Barbara looked at Nightwing, and reached for her headset. "I'll notify Bruce as soon as I have the L-serve download from LexCorp. You got the dishes."

 **Part 4d:**

Oracle glanced at the time and keyed up channel one on her comm panel. "Our girl is getting around, Bruce. She bought a cell phone earlier today, one of your Universe Sixes, from Lennello's. Yep, our friend Lenny. I've already spoken to him. She paid cash, bought an L-Serve plan for it. I'm pulling the download from Lexcorp now. Then she was at Observation Post six earlier tonight - that was our only direct contact - then had dinner at Yorgies in Little Moscow. Nothing since."

Batman was easing the Batmobile thru the alley, heading to the rail tunnels and access three to the Batcave complex. "Alright. Tell me about OP six first, that was your direct contact?"

Oracle smiled as she watched a progress bar advance slowly. "Yes. There was RF traffic there earlier but none of us were. I detailed a drone, thinking it was a possible jumper. It showed me nothing was there - except the drone saw footprints being made on the gargoyle as it scanned in infrared. Then suddenly it was six full blocks west. Nothing when it got back to OP six, of course. Then an hour and a half later, GCPD gets called to Yorgies to pick up a half dozen Mafiya. We have security footage of her buying the phone, and taking down the Mafiya. So I'd definitely say she's in Gotham."

Batman pressed down on the accelerator a bare millimeter as the Batmobile signaled access three had accepted his IFF response and was open. "Why was I not informed earlier?" Behind him, access three closed silently.

Oracle answered with a touch of asperity. "Because at the moment of OP six, you were interrogating that mugger. Lennello's I followed up on as soon as I could chase down the phone number. Yorgies' I only found out about after the download from Mercy Hospital hit, and my filtering routines pulled up the Mafiya admits, and Nightwing could go get the deets. The only lead I have left is the cellphone traffic, and since she bought an L-Serve plan for the cellphone, I couldn't find out what she was doing with it until now - had to wait for the daily download from Lexcorp. It's just about to hit, that's why I have you online."

Oracle's computers were prepped and waiting for the download to finish; as soon as the data was secured, they fell to, and text scrolled rapidly up a series of holoscreens. One line flashed, and the holoscreens reformatted with the first level details, the metadata and the contacts. "Alright, let's see what we have. She was researching social - "Despite herself, Barbara's breath caught. "Bruce, she was researching you. Social pages - shit, she has Selina as well. Downloaded your engagement announcement story, all five stories. "Unlike the Batcave's computers which used tones to indicate keyboard function, Barbara preferred hard clicks, which staccatoed across the chamber housing the Oracle interface. "From there to the Post - lots of luck there, honey... and then - me." More keyboarding, Bruce could imagine the additional holoscreens fountaining into existence as imagery and data shunted. "She got my shooting, downloaded that - then... herself? She checked on herself here, Bruce. Last search was Russian restaurants - I guess we know where she decided to go. That was the last use of the phone; it went offline right after OP six. Likely just dropped it; eighty stories would do for it just fine..."

It was on the tip of Bruce's tongue to activate contingency plans, and send everyone to alternate identities - and then Barbara came back online, deceptively calm.

"Bruce? She was just here. In the room. She dropped off a package of Oreo cookies, and an envelope, addressed to you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: No real input from me on this chapter apart from an idea that I had been trying to work out involving Lex, LordGrise and I IM'd a bit on it and he came up with a fantastic implementation. I so enjoy what LordGrise is doing with this as this Illyana story has her so… unleashed.

If you do as well then write a review (authors so love feedback).

 **Part 5a**

Batman didn't even consciously think; the Bat mobile was already lined up with the tracks, and the rail dolly slammed down with perfect accuracy, engaging the rails and lifting the car. Then the Bat mobile spun a hundred eighty degrees on the pivot, and the wheels crashed down onto the packed stones, spraying granite shrapnel in shotgun style patterns even as the turbine spooled up to one hundred three percent of sustained thrust. Batman's head was already against the support, but even so he grunted as six gravities of acceleration howled downrange, reversing the direction of the car and getting it back up to speed in seconds. Access three opened smoothly, and Batman re-entered the main train tunnels, heading for the Clock Tower.

 **Part 5b**

Catwoman looked down on Central Park from what had once been her balcony, and tried to think of what to do next.

Arkham Asylum had burned to the ground. That alone was the sort of thing that ordinarily would be a good first delusion on the diagnostic path to a place like Arkham - the place was huge, and had been largely made of granite, concrete, and rebar. By weight, less than ten percent of the place had actually been flammable, and that was if you counted all the interior items and metric tons of paper in the place. But burned it had... and that should have been the backdrop for the mass escape of all time.

But no. The relatively low security 'non-violent' patients had been successfully evacuated as soon as the high security wing had ignited. Not one patient had been lost. But the high security wing... essentially wasn't there anymore. The staff, according to bulletins Oracle had pushed out, was now accounted for, although that wasn't public knowledge yet. They had been returned. But not one of the patients had been seen. Penguin had let it be known that according to reports on classified government boards, the staff uniformly were reporting that the high security patients were being held and questioned... by demons.

Bruce, of course, had not known this when he'd made his assignments. And of course, he'd known better than to try to give her an assignment. But several of the missing Rogues were people she knew, two in particular she considered friends, and so she'd let it be known she was going to check old haunts, unused spaces... places one might lie low. She'd done so all night. Fruitlessly. The streets were full of rumors... but not a single hard sighting.

Batman had had the Iceberg Lounge monitored all night. And so Catwoman had once again become the de facto liaison between Batman and Jason Blood. Since the man had taken over her apartment when she had moved into Wayne Manor, the easiest way to find him was to tap on the patio door of where he slept. Surely he'd be expecting her...

But no. The apartment was dark and still; he had no reason to hide from her, and therefore he wasn't answering the tapping because he wasn't home -

"Catwoman." Batman's voice was harsh. "Oracle has just encountered Magik at the Clock Tower; I'm en route now. _Magik is confirmed to know who you are_. If you're not with Blood - "

Catwoman leaped up to the balcony railing and headed for the roof. "I'm on the way to the Clock Tower now, Batman. Jason is not in residence. Meet you there."

 **Part 5c**

Batman strode into the Clock Tower, and something eased in him at the 'business as normal' rhythm of the place. Oracle had just run a transporter analysis on the cookies, and apparently there was nothing abnormal about them. The envelope lay on the coffee table where it had been dropped, and Nightwing was running a scanner wand over it. Catwoman was on her cell phone, and she nodded to Batman as he entered the room. Oracle looked up, then Nightwing, and just like that, Batman Inc was in session.

"Found out where our girl has been, Batman." Oracle reported. " - besides here of course. Our footage is cued up on screen twelve it you want to see it, but it's all of two seconds long. She drops in, silently I might add, drops her presents - that was the first either of us knew she was here - and then waves, says 'Peace offering' and drops out. Cookies are clean, by the way. Nightwing?"

Nightwing uploaded the scanner to the computers, and another holoscreen erupted into being. "Envelope is plain manila, ink is from a Pic pen. Handwriting as you see it. Contents is cheap paper and commercial color inks. Likeliest candidate - comic books. Haven't touched it yet, of course."

Catwoman took up the report. "Spent the night checking contacts and locations for any of the missing. The Z haven't been contacted by anyone. Nor has Penguin, though he told me he'd heard that the staff of Arkham is telling the Feds that the patients are being held by demons. Make of that what you will - I don't read comic books, so I don't know if that lines up or not. Maven says the word on the street is they're all dead - odds currently at seven to two overall. Jason is not in residence - I don't think he's been home for a day or so."

Oracle cued up a television news report, showing a massive mansion entirely engulfed in fire. Emergency vehicles were on-scene, including ambulances and law enforcement. "Upstate New York - estate of 'retired' Russian industrialist Georgi Tsulkov. This has our girl's MO all over it. Watch over here, by the helipad." A white disk flashed into being, and a dozen or more people were crouching on the ground when it disappeared. "That's the estate staff - the menials. None of them injured - see how they're all moving around?" A minute or so later, another disc flashed into being, and this time people were sprawled out across the snow when the disc flashed out. "Those are Tsulkov and his goons. All of them injured, three seriously - including Tsukov himself. Now watch right here, by that car. That's the Sheriff, by the way." A third disc flashed, and a pile of objects lay spotlighted by the Sheriff's headlights. "And that is a middling fair pile of guns, and a goodly quantity of drugs. All in all, a bad night for Mr. Tsulkov."

Batman rubbed his chin. "Who called the Sheriff's Department and EMS?"

Oracle smiled. "Our girl did, from her burner phone. She must be keeping it wherever she has the patients, because I lost it again as soon as the last call terminated. Called the local news station and told them about a raid on the estate as well, which is how the news chopper was there and we have this lovely footage. Which is international, by the way."

"She's sending messages." was Catwoman's observation. "And in a big and damned loud manner. Wonder what Tsulkov did to piss her off?"

"We think it was some of Tsulkov's organization at Yorgies' earlier tonight." Oracle answered absently. "I've been trying to ascertain who was picked up, and who incapacitated. I think it's safe to say, though, that Tsulkov's organization has been beheaded."

Nightwing was working his handheld. "No loss of life reported. That's what? - the third incident in less than a day for a supposed Demon Queen? I'm starting to think her reputation is inflated."

Batman shook his head. "She's restraining herself. The question is why."

Everyone looked at Batman, but he was not forthcoming. After a moment, Selina sighed. "Bruce... unpack, please."

Bruce gestured at the images of the three incidents. "Arkham Asylum. About as noisy an incident as you could possibly create... and yet, every staff member home safe. Every patient safe, except for those in the high security wing. We don't have a solid read on those yet, except for Joker... but I'd bet those odds Oracle mentioned that the majority - no, I'd bet those odds every single patient is still alive."

Batman pointed at the image of the restaurant. "Next, we have Yorgies', and this, incidentally, is why I don't believe she's killed anyone yet. Civilians in danger, gangsters sent off, but returned uninjured, only traumatized. She had every reason to lay low; instead, she acted to protect the innocent, and punish the guilty. And again, no fatalities, even though with her demonstrated abilities, she need not leave bodies strewn about."

Oracle spoke up. "She's going to have to watch that place, now. With Tsulkov out for the duration, all the ratskis down there are going to want to grab territory." She opened a tasking window and began setting parameters. "I'm setting a surveillance detail of Little Brown Bats. If she comes back, or if there's further problems there, we'll know."

Batman nodded and enlarged the image of the mansion fire before continuing. "And this morning, Tsulkov's McMansion: structure gone, innocents unharmed, guilty punished. And no fatalities, despite what was likely armed resistance - and despite the fact she can conjure weapons. She's deliberately avoiding fatalities. Only possible answer. The question is why."

Nightwing spoke up, thoughtfully. "We keep thinking she's another Trigon or Darkseid, Batman, because that's what Garth told us, and because that's the assumption the government is proceeding on. But she's acting like you, Bruce. Like the early days, before the League, before Gordon was in office, before Babs... before we had allies."

Batman grunted. "She is still a danger, in my city. That makes her my - our problem." He looked at his family. "Our problem."

Selina snorted. "Bruce, if she wanted a body count, she'd have one in the thousands if not tens of thousands by now - she could set entire city blocks on fire, to include the streets, likely. And what if she went after the tunnels? It isn't why she's restraining herself that we need to be concerned with. It's why she's holding onto the Rogues and the others. What does she want?"

Batman turned to Barbara. "That is a good question. Oracle, updates from Arkham?"

Oracle checked her automated routines, and softly cursed. "They changed their damned transmission passwords early... why do they bother?" Three minutes later, data started rolling in. "Got it. Give my subroutines a few minutes to chew on things, Bruce... looks like almost a quarter terabyte of new material in the last eight hours."

Batman grunted. "That gives us a chance to take care of personal needs."

 **Part 5d**

Fifteen minutes later, everyone had their drink of choice and ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches before them. Selina had grinned when Nightwing unceremoniously tied an apron around his waist and announced what the menu was to be, and unashamedly enjoyed the view of the superhero cooking.

She murmured to Barbara while Bruce was in the bathroom "Admit it... you have him wear that because it frames his tush." They had both broken into giggles.

Once food was consumed, and the subroutines began to report back, everyone got down to business.

"Interview reports are unanimous as to what the staff were questioned about, Bruce." Oracle reported. "They were asked about a golden locket, and who gave Joker the ritual that brought 'the boss' to our world. Their words." Another report box opened, and she scanned it before dismissing it. "All the high security staff are accounted for now, by the way. Exposure, dehydration, and in two cases borderline hypoglycemia. That's all. Not even a bruise. The two diabetics were brought to the front of the line when they began complaining, as well..."

Batman frowned, not unhappily, but rather in deep thought. "Do we know who, besides the Joker, was a part of the ritual? It's possible he was not the one originally given the thing."

Barbara shook her head. "Not even alluded to, Bruce. Apparently the interrogators were very professional; they gave little to no information they didn't have to."

Catwoman was pacing, unhappily. "Let's not forget she still has all the inmates. Are they prisoners... or hostages? Or God help us, is she turning them into mindwiped weapons?" She stopped, looking out over the city, and the dawn. "Bruce... we need to round up Joker's known associates. They're going to be who she goes after next, logically."

Batman grunted his agreement, and turned to Oracle. "Cross index them. How many would have access to this... spell?"

Barbara was already setting up the datasearch. "Give me a minute... none of them, Bruce. No known associations." She gestured helplessly at Batman's glare. "What? It's not his style. You know that!"

Nightwing moved to support his wife. "This stinks on ice. Joker's no demonologist. And he's never even attempted magic. Somebody's playing us... or him."

Batman grimaced, and followed the train of thought. "Then add known contacts, casual associations, past associations, the ones that are alive, anyway. Dick is right; Joker didn't do this himself. Someone set him up."

Barbara's fingers flew, and displays scrolled before two faces fountained into new display spaces. "Checking second tier associates... two cross references to the Church of Blood. Just routine thug taskings, though..." She sighed. "We've never had a good handle on who all Joker has employed, Bruce. I really, really wish we could have gotten into Intergang's databases when we had that laptop fall into the Titans' hands... I'd give a pretty to know how they knew we were onto the Church."

Batman's hand fisted in frustration. In the old days, he'd have knocked down the Penguin's door. But these days, Cobblepott was practically legitimate, contenting himself to being a facilitator and go between, rather than a doer of deeds himself...

 **Part 5e**

Oracle's computer chimed, and Batman's head turned - just as the image of the Martian Manhunter took over the main monitor screen. "Batman. I just took over monitor duty, and there is a high-priority message to you from the Titans. The message is over seven hours old."

Batman's voice was flat with frustration. "Why was I - or Oracle - not notified immediately?"

J'onn J'onnz' voice held a certain dry amusement. "Because you have impressed, quite forcefully, upon several of the more junior members of the League that you and yours are not to be disturbed when in crisis mode except for, and I quote, 'the immediately impending doom of the planet.' Your treatment of Elongated Man still resonates, even after all this time.'

Batman winced. Ralph Dibney, AKA The Elongated Man, had made an extremely ill-advised reference to Catwoman while in Batman's hearing... and Batman had chased him into the Jeffries tubes of the station. Batman had caught up with the Elongated Man by the simple expedient of tying his limbs to every stanchion and exposed conduit available until Batman finally caught up with Dibney's head and could express his objections to the comment.

At the same comment, Catwoman smiled. Much to her amusement when she found out, no one in the Justice League had ever made another joke at her expense in Batman's hearing. It was much like Gotham's Rogues in that respect; they understood that to so much as mention Batman while in conversation with her was an absolutely certain way to earn her displeasure. She had underlined that one evening in the original Iceberg by clubbing Scarecrow to the floor with a bottle of 151 proof rum, soaking his back and short cape in the process, and then setting him on fire with a culinary torch for pressing the issue of her many escapes from the Bat.

"What do the Titans want?" He asked.

"In the immediate, a face to face conversation with you." the Manhunter responded. "Raven has been in psychic contact with the entity, and she confirms that the entity that destroyed Arkham Asylum is indeed Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina, AKA Magik. We are in receipt of Oracle's posting of what we might expect if we engage her. We also have a copy of a classified American JCAS Section Twelve assessment, that closely parallels Oracle's assessment. Both assessments place Magik in the same category of threat as Darkseid or Trigon. It is worthy of note that both assessments are based on the same data set, which is to say, several comic book series."

Batman sat back, his face the icy mask he customarily wore when attending League business. "I'll meet with them on the Tower. Is it possible to have Dr. Fate attend?"

The Manhunter shook his head. "He is not onsite. His last status update is three days old, and indicates he expects to be unavailable for at least a week."

"Alright. I'll meet with the Titans there in ten minutes." He turned to the small group. "Dick, you stay here. Selina..."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, stud."

 **Part 5f**

Lex Luthor closed the folder containing the classified briefings on 'The entity hereafter referred to as Magik' and sighed as he once again mentally railed at the absolutely moronic imbecility of the average specimen of humanity.

Assigning Magik to the same category of being as Trigon or Darkseid was absolutely ridiculous. Trigon and Darkseid both wanted de facto apocalypse events to happen to Earth, if for different reasons and purposes. This Magik woman - whatever those morons in the Pentagon wanted to think, fundamentally they were dealing with a human woman - was being immaculately on point by comparison. The only anomaly was the destruction of the asylum - and he was willing to bet she had an excellent reason for doing as she had. Not one unwanted casualty. He snorted. The Pentagon wished it had such operatives.

He consigned the folder and it's contents to the destruction bin and watched as the papers flashed into flame and then to ash - and then to dust. "Illyana Nikolievna Rasputin." He murmured thoughtfully as he stepped to the glass and looked out over his city. "I wish you'd come to me... I think we could easily have done business. God knows I could have at least made some introductions..."

"You have an exceptionally clear and precise voice, Alexander Joseph Luthor." came a feminine - and mildly amused - voice. "And your pronunciation is excellent. Have you fifteen minutes to spare? If not, let me know when a good time might be, and I'll call back."

Luthor looked up - and immediately noted the small disc hovering by the ceiling. "As it happens, Ms. Rasputin, now would be an excellent time. Please, come thru."

Luthor came to stand before the disc as it expanded and Illyana entered, clad in a bold business suit of black and yellow. He smiled and offered his hand. "Welcome to Metropolis, Ms. Rasputin."

Illyana smiled and shook his hand firmly. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Luthor. And thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Luthor smiled again, much more genuinely as his instincts took measure of his guest and found her not wanting in any way. "When opportunity knocks, and all that. Have you had breakfast yet?"

Illyana smiled in return, liking what she saw: arrogance and competence in almost equal measure. Villains are so much - easier. She thought. Less baggage. "I have not...?"

Lex pulled out his cell phone. "Then lets make this a breakfast meeting, and stretch that fifteen minutes to forty five."

 **Part 5g**

Thirty minutes later, the bare plates showing only the merest remnants of breakfast before them, Lex got down to business. "More tea...? No? Then let me just top my cup off..." He replaced the teapot and poured coffee into his cup. "So. What might I do for you, Illyana?"

"I'd like executive accommodations in Vegas at the Demesne... Anonymously. I also need to speak with three men, most recently in the employ of the Joker. I have it on good authority that you might be able to arrange that for me thru the hiring service you and he use from time to time." Illyana sat back and sipped from her cup, enjoying the hot, smoky, ebon dark, and strong Russian Caravan tea in her cup.

Lex didn't even consider protesting or demurring the implications of her request; he knew in his bones there would be few easier ways to - irk her. Besides, it was so refreshing to simply be himself, and not have to hide.

"That could be arranged..." he said thoughtfully as he sat back and sipped his cup of Kona Blue. "You say speak. Will they be fit for other taskings after the conversation?"

"That would depend on matters beyond my control." Illyana answered evenly. "I have no particular quarrels with them; they are hirelings and intermediaries. I merely want to know where and from whom they - "

"- obtained a golden locket and the summoning ritual used to bring you here, yes, I know." Luthor sipped and enjoyed the momentary advantage. "It was all in the reports I read. You haven't been exactly keeping what you want a secret. I imagine every security agency in the world is aware of what you want by now. You have names?"

Illyana shook her head. "I have faces." She gestured, and three faces appeared, sculpted from smoke and fume amid a field of heat distortion. "Those I had questioned recalled these three visiting the Joker in the last month, each only once. They did not recall names, and thus I have only faces."

Luthor sat at his desk and brought up his computer. "Would you enlarge the images to human norm, please? Excellent. Now, one at a time, pan side to side - yes, just like that - and now tilt top to bottom, while maintaining the pan - good - and now just the tilt for a moment. Good. It will be just a moment for the facial recognition software... Yes. I have them." He looked up, pokerface firmly in place. "Now, let's talk about price."

Illyana surprised him by giggling. "Lex, Lex... Gods above and Thrones below, you look like you think I'm going to start bargaining as though these were carrots and you the greengrocer. What do you want? I will not give you weapons of mass destruction, or the makings thereof, to include kryptonite, nor will I give you other people's secrets. Other than that... Use your imagination."

Lex raised an eyebrow, the very picture of a corporate businessman. "And if I decide your conditions aren't acceptable?" He asked smoothly.

"I think you understand the concepts of collateral damage and unintended consequences." Illyana responded, her voice no longer amused. "I may be here for some time if things don't work out as I want them to. If I give you other people's secrets, you're going to start wondering how long until I start to give away yours. To say nothing of my having then made enemies that I didn't need to." She stopped smiling. "As for weapons of mass destruction... I walk in time and space the way you might walk this city, Alexander Joseph Luthor. Have you any idea how many dead Earths I've seen?"

Luthor simply shook his head, his gaze captivated by Illyana's eyes, which were now absolutely not human. "I haven't the faintest idea. I had no idea you had. Why would you do such a thing even once, let alone more than once?"

Illyana's voice now held timbres the human throat could not produce. "Wealth speaks loudly, in virtually every inhabited place I have walked, Alexander Joseph Luthor. As a matter of principle and policy, I am very careful about what debts I incur - because pay them I must, for the sake of my reputation if nothing else. Prospecting dead worlds is an excellent method of finding items and materials that no one cares about any longer. In the process of doing so, often I learn a great deal about what happened. Bioweapons are the first cause of dead worlds, in my experience... and nuclear weapons are the second. I loathe and despise them. I will not deal in the former under any circumstance I can think of. The latter... only in the most grim of situations. Which this is not." Illyana was on her feet now, and her business suit had become a black bodysuit that bore more than a passing resemblance to armor.

Unbidden and unannounced, Mercy entered the room and stood between Illyana and Lex's desk. "That's far enough."

"Mercedes Victoria Graves, first daughter of Franklin and Laura Graves..." Illyana pronounced carefully, somehow savoring the name as she gazed at the woman in question. "Bodyguard, personal assistant... implicitly trusted hand of Alexander Joseph Luthor. But not lover." Her lambent eyes considered the Valkyrie-like woman before her for a moment. "Interesting. I give my word I will not harm anyone now present unless offered harm first. Does that suffice?"

Mercy didn't take her eyes off Illyana. "Lex?"

Lex's voice was calm and accepting. "I'll accept that, Mercy... but I'm not the one she's offering her word to... am I, Ms. Rasputin?"

"No." The word hung there, absolute, but somehow not offensive. "Mercedes Victoria Graves, what say you?"

Mercy rasied her chin. "I accept your word, if you stand down."

That quickly, the boldly dressed businesswoman was back in her chair, sipping her tea. "Done."

Luthor looked thoughtful. "That's why you want those three men. You don't need to speak to them. You're going to - assess them, or whatever the term is for what you do. Like you just did with Mercy. And with me."

Illyana raised her cup in salute. "Precisely so. I don't even need them alive, although I prefer they be. Saves potential complications."

Lex sat there a moment... and then snorted and shook his head. "Well played, Ms. Rasputin. Well played. And you did give your word, unleveraged, even." He drummed his fingers a moment. "A lost painting from one of the Masters, if you please."

Illyana stood. "Done." She gestured, and a disc appeared; rather than an object falling thru it, it traveled upwards, revealing a wooden crate marked in German and bearing Nazi symbology. "You'll want to be careful opening that, Ms. Graves; the wood is somewhat brittle." She turned to Lex. "In this world, those paintings never existed, Lex. But I assure you, they will pass the most rigorous verification process." A soft crack of wood fracturing caused both their heads to turn: Mercy had levered one corner open with a tanto.

Mercy looked up at the cessation of conversation. "What? I was careful. The crate - " Another soft crackle of wood giving way, and she grasped the lid and eased it off. " - has twelve paintings in it, Lex."

Illyana's voice was amused. "Yes. Lex, any one of them fulfills my commitment to you. Pick one."

Lex didn't even get up from the desk. "The one furthest from me, if you please, Mercy."

The painting was not large, and showed a view of a dock and a ship unloading by moonlight. The painting was moody, and elegantly mysterious, vague shapes in the darkness alluding to buildings and possibly another ship.

Illyana poured the last of the tea into her cup. "Any ideas, Lex? Or shall I tell you? Or do you wish for the art experts to tell you?"

Lex had come around his desk and accepted the painting from Mercy. "Painted on a sheet of copper...? I have no Idea, Illyana. I suppose you'd best give me the basics, if only so I can check the experts...?"

"Adam Elsheimer. This was done in 1610. In your world, he died in 1609, but in the world this comes from, his patrons were more generous, and his wife was more careful of what she let him eat. He lived another eleven years. It's a good choice. You're going to set the art world on its ear if ever you release it." She finished her tea, savoring every drop.

Lex glanced at the crate, and the eleven other paintings. "And these others?"

Illyana's voice was calm, and showed no trace of amusement. "You can hold them for me - you already have appropriate facilities. I take it you might, under mutually acceptable circumstances, be interested in another?"

Lex smiled, and carefully handed the painting back to Mercy. "Absolutely." He crossed over and extended his hand once more. "Your accommodations will be ready for you this afternoon; let the concierge know if you have any requirements staffing wise. On the suite's account. If you are still in residence in a year, I will take another from the crate. I'll make my desire to speak to the three men you've identified known; that might take a day or two. I'll leave word at the Desmesne?"

Illyana stood, and the two shook hands again. "Agreed. A pleasure doing business with you, Lex. I'll touch base in a week if I find no messages." A disc appeared, and Illyana departed.

Mercy turned to Lex. "Well played?"

Lex smiled, a trifle sourly. "Did she place any limitations on her word to you?"

Mercy looked thoughtful. "No... Ah! She just ensured we'll look out for her interests!"

Lex nodded. "Exactly. As well as implicitly agreeing to look after ours. 'Harm' is a very open word, when you consider the context." He gazed at the crate. "And as well, she's left a very substantial deposit and assurance. I fully expect that she will be the leaseholder of the A suite of the Demesne for the next twelve years."

 **Part 5h**

In the Watchtower monitor room, Green Arrow leaned against a console and shook his head as he watched Batman and Catwoman stepping off the transporter pad. "This is bullshit, J'onn." He said. "Every month, new security measures; every month, more hoops for the newbies and prospects to jump thru. He - " he nodded at the screen showing Batman striding down a hallway " - is gonna put us in negative growth yet. The Titans are friends; Garth has as much field experience as any of us, for all he still looks and acts sixteen. Treating them like they're not trusted is gonna have them not trusting us, and if that starts spreading, there will be hell to pay."

J'onn J'onzz adjusted a control and impassively regarded the screens. "He doesn't trust magic; that trait has gotten worse. The Titans are everything that we are not; primarily magical, trusting, mutually loving and supporting. I am not surprised Batman sees them as a potential threat; he likely wonders how much of their cohesiveness is coerced. And no amount of assurance will change that, which is why I have not spoken to him concerning the matter."

Green Arrow winced. He had been on the wrong side of the mindwipe fiasco that had nearly destroyed the League; and he had worked hard to make amends. But some things could not be mended, only forgotten... and Batman never forgot anything. He turned his attention to the Titans. He had been the second Justice League member needed to satisfy Batman's security requirements, and he had stayed out of a sense of obligation to see things thru. He just hoped the meeting went without fireworks...

 **Part 5i**

The Titans sat quietly in the 'meeting room' that they could see was actually a hastily reconfigured interrogation chamber, and collectively tried not to feel like prisoners.

When they had presented at the Justice League transporter closest to Titan's Tower ( in downtown San Francisco) the first thing they had to wait for was the transporter to boot up. Then there was the usual need for a 'sponsor' to accept responsibility for them while onboard the WatchTower, since they weren't actually members. Then a second Justice League member was needed to vouch for Terra and Jinx, since they were genetically identical to known supervillains. Only then did the transporter system enable, and they were able to beam up. And when they arrived, they found that procedures had changed, and they needed to remain as a group, and remain under either escort or observation the entire time they were there...

Raven had perfected a mental link spell between all her teammates years earlier; it was a testament to how threatened they all felt that the link had come up at all.

 _Just how long are we going to give the jerk before we leave?_ Asked Ravager.

 _As long as it takes._ Was Raven's unspoken response. _This is far too important to allow personality conflict. We know he doesn't approve of us, our relationship structure - and it matters not a bit. I fully expect he'll question my mental status; he does that to put people off balance. Don't let it work - in fact, be amused that he's so predictable. From his point of view, it's a legitimate question, given our history. He doesn't understand our gestalt because he's never experienced it. If we must, I'll ask J'onn to scan me - he's here._

They all stood as Batman entered the compartment. And boggled as Catwoman strode in beside him.

 _What the hell?!_ Cascaded and echoed thru the link, accompanied by surprise and various degrees of offense, outrage, and suppressed reaction. Catwoman was a known villain, rumors notwithstanding. Batman took advantage of the momentary disruption and spoke.

"Take your seats and let's make this fast." Batman's voice was clipped and businesslike. "Catwoman is with me, obviously."

Raven bowed her head in acquiescence and seated herself on the extruded stool. The rest of the Titans sat silently, their movements eerily in unison. "As you say, Batman."

"Well?" Batman felt a gnawing frustration setting in as he watched them. They were behaving wrong, all acting as one, obviously in some form of mindlink; and it was obvious as well they were in intense communication with each other. He didn't have time for this sort of nonsense, _Why the hell couldn't they have just made a report of whatever the hell they wanted to speak about_ \- He stopped and looked again at his hosts / guests.

Raven's eyes had gone white, and her cloak was active - classic preparation for an emergency group teleport. Starfire's eyes were glowing ever so slightly, for all that her expression was neutral. So were Jinx's, and her pulse and respirations were elevated. Terra and Ravager had moved up to flank Beast Boy, as though forming a wall between Batman and the rest of their team. Most tellingly, Gizmo was into the WatchTower's computers, apparently monitoring every system she could access as fast as she could get to them. Only Beast Boy sat, apparently unconcernedly - but his eyes were wrong; they were those of the big cats - or a dragon.

Batman came to the abrupt realization that at least half the Titans were fight-or-flight afraid. Of him. Beside him Catwoman 's hand tensed slightly as her body reacted to what she was noting as well. He had at best a second and a half to do something to defuse the situation before something broke - but before he could do anything, Catwoman eased away from him and took a seat, as easily as she would in the Iceberg Lounge.

"Okay... what's got you all wound up like this? We're all friends here - well, maybe not me, but it's been awhile since anyone's had cause to be afraid of me. So what gives?"

Terra spoke up. "It's - the date. And this place. But mostly it's him."

Jinx took up where her teammate left off. "He looks almost exactly like our Batman, he carries himself exactly the same, he acts the same, and - and he hates us the same, and we don't even know why. The only reason we're here is because Raven said this was necessary, and we weren't going to let her come alone."

Batman felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Hate? He didn't hate - he stopped himself. Yes, he did hate - magic, that is. The betrayal Zatanna had committed had cemented his judgments: magic was treacherous, and it could not be trusted. Power corrupted, unless guarded against zealously. And guard he had. Zealously.

 _He looks almost exactly like our Batman, he carries himself exactly the same, he acts the same, and he hates us the same, and we don't even know why._ He found he was looking at the palms of his gauntlets.

The symbol on his chest might be a different color and material, but he knew from personal experience that the shape was essentially the same, and that it was there for exactly the same reason - to give his enemies something to focus on. The Titans had done exactly as he would have wished them to, had he been - that man, and had foreseen this situation.

His voice was soft. "What - is the significance of the date?"

Gizmo answered. "It's the anniversary of the Watchtower Massacre, and the Justice Lords' takeover."

Catwoman felt sick to her stomach; that and the need to defend Batman made her voice acerbic. "I swear, you people are as bad as he is with explanations. I know I'm not going to want to hear this, but maybe you want to elaborate on that?"

The explanation was graphic; Gizmo had newsreel footage archived - and did not pull any punches with it. In this reality, Catwoman was a known supervillain, for all the rumors of the relationship between her and Batman; in the previous reality that Gizmo, Jinx, and Terra had escaped from, Catwoman had been all that... before Batman had somehow made her his covert operative. Many of Batman's Rogue victims had been set up by her; after they were all captured, dead, or in deep hiding, she had tried to 'go hero'... admitting to her role in the takedown of Batman's Rogues, working with Batman openly, having a semi-public relationship with him, and essentially making the East End of Gotham her protectorate. That had lasted nine months. During that time, over five dozen costumed metahumans across North America, independent superheroes and villains alike, had either been arrested on trumped up charges ranging from assault and battery to attempted murder... or killed attempting to evade capture. At the end, Catwoman's presence among them had been the unspoken guarantee that had brought over forty independent heroes, heroines, and vigilantes to the Watchtower, seeking an understanding with the Justice Lords. Instead, the compartment they had been in had been explosively - and publicly - voided into space, with Catwoman among the victims. That very day, the Justice Lords had ceased any pretence of respecting the rule of law, and had taken over the continent. By the end of that week they had effectively owned the world, and the real reign of terror had begun.

In the control room, Green Arrow watched the proceedings with jaw agape, and the Martian Manhunter took on that degree of frozen expressionlessness he only did when he was truly upset. As the footage of the victims ceasing to struggle and succumbing to death in the vacuum of space played, and Lord Superman's manifesto propounded forth, J'onn touched a control. "Batman. Please come to the Monitor Room at once. Catwoman, Titans, If you would please remain aboard, you are free to move about the station. The food court is available if you would care to relocate there."

 **Part 5j**

In the WatchTower's food court, Catwoman drew far more glances and measuring looks than the Titans did; She ignored them with the regal ineffability of the Cat, collecting only a cup of coffee and a danish. The Titans drew full trays, and they took one of the 'conversational nooks' that the room was ringed with. Gizmo kept her holofields active, obviously monitoring the WatchTowers' internal systems. To her surprise, no one objected or interfered, although the Martian Manhunter did open a dialogue box in her control space for a moment, apparently to confirm her identity.

Catwoman sipped her latte appreciatively, and listened. Raven explained what had transpired between her and Magik, and then Jinx and Terra related the story of their escape from their home universe, with infrequent interjections from Gizmo, who was clearly performing cybernetic overwatch for the group. Their tale was harrowing, and underlined just how utterly ruthless the Justice Lords had been in their pursuit of a perfect world. Her alter there had apparently been the guttersnipe the Post wrote about.

"You know, though, that in this world they aren't like that." Catwoman said with feeling. It was odd how only a few short years earlier, the Justice League had been her de facto enemies, given how high on the 'Apprehend On Sight' list she had routinely featured, and now all she felt was a need to defend them.

Gizmo gave her a long flat look. "I don't know anything of the sort. They could decide to start tomorrow, and we would be among the first ones they'd have to kill, since we saw it happen before."

Beast Boy spoke up, and it was clear he wasn't happy either. "I don't think the League is going to turn rogue, Catwoman... But I'm damned unhappy about being second class citizens just because Nightwing and Starfire broke up and we then accepted Jinx, Terra, and Gizmo. We have nothing to prove, but every time we have to deal with the League, here's Batman finding a new way to harass us. He keeps preaching communication and cooperation, half the teams on the planet have funding because of us, but not only do we not have a transporter pad, even though we asked for one years ago, we have to have permission from multiple core members to even be up here. This while there are associate members with access privileges - hell, working monitor duty! - who have less than three years track record."

He paused to take a gulp of his Caf-Pow, and when he continued, no one would ever mistake his voice for that of a sixteen year old. "The Titans have fifteen years plus of experience; he should know, he bankrolled us! Hell, if it comes to that, I was running with the Doom Patrol, Raven was already fighting Trigon and his minions, and Kory was dealing in palace intrigue and ducking assassination attempts, all while he was still hiding from the police in Gotham's alleyways! But _we_ have to be monitored and escorted whenever we come here? He owes us one hell of an apology. But since that's not going to ever happen, we'll just let that lay. Raven says we need to be in Gotham; she says that if he's left to try to deal with Magik without us, it'll be a disaster that will make No Man's Land look like a picnic. But I'd bet - " Garth stopped himself, as the entire core membership entered the food court and made a beeline for their table, Batman front and center.

Catwoman's voice was equal parts sympathetic and amused. "I think he heard you, Beast Boy. And here comes the League's response. You want to be taken seriously, though, you have got to change that name..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Arkham Asylum**

LordGrise's note: Some chapters come easy - some don't. This one, obviously, is one of the latter - seven weeks plus for just this chapter. Mind, other things were in there - a supposedly paying writing gig that fell apart being the big one - but hopefully moving forward, I won't have delays quite this big.

That said, there are some acknowledgements to make, in order of my meeting them:

First, my Lady and Wife LadySetta, who puts up with me, lets me use her for a sounding board, and generally is my partner and helpmate in all things. I have not credited her before this, and I should have. I've been a grumpy snuphalumpagus some days during this chapter. 'Thank you for having my back' seems very inadequate in situations like this...

Second, Chris Dee, who writes Cat-Tales. Cat-Tales has been going since 2001, and has over seventy separate but connected stories. On those nights when things are bad, I read her stuff, especially the first story. Her writing informs mine like no other where Cats and Bats and all else associated with them are concerned. Without her, this chapter would have taken a fearsome if not fatal blunder. Thank you for pulling no punches, ma'am.

Third, Machiavelli, with whom I have co-written in the past, gave me considerable help with this chapter and indeed with the entire story: discussions about the overall plot, a role-playing session that became the Justice League meeting in this chapter, and ideas that will flower in following chapters. He has other stories on Fanfiction: you should chase them down.

Fourth, DHalpin3, who challenged me to continue with this after he wrote the first chapter, likewise has a big footprint in this chapter, most notably with the nightmare vision: he wrote a treatment of it that, while I did not use verbatim, is absolutely in the DNA of what I did write. He also has a number of other stories on FanFiction, most of them Illyana-centric. Absolutely worth a read, IMHO.

And finally, a shout out to Alcimines, who did not knowingly contribute to this story, but whose own writing inspired me. 'Aunt Illy' is gonna be a moving force for a couple of big plot elements in future chapters. His current story, wherein you may find the original 'Aunt Illy passage, is in his story 'Wolverine's World', on Fanfiction. He has some eighty others - yes, you read that correctly. Go check his stuff out too, won't you?

Dhalpin author's note: Ahh yes, some chapters don't come easy. Rather like the Meat Love song, I'd do anything for love (I think Illyana's a fan of some of his songs, the ones with the most drama that is).

…

 _Some days it don't come easy_

 _Some days it don't come hard_

 _Some days it don't come at all, and these are the days that never end_

 _Some nights you're breathing fire_

 _Some nights you're carved in ice_

 _Some nights you're like nothing I've ever seen before or will again_

…

I myself am also a massive fan of Alcimines work (and was one of the one's who wrote him to urged that Illyana be added… like you couldn't guess that. Well once again LordGrise's has baked a deliciously chapter, if a bit untimely. So… enjoy.

Oh… and there is a bit of a Mother of Darkness reference in this chapter for the discerning.

 **Part 6**

Upon learning of the reasons for the emergency meeting, the first concern on everyone's mind was for the prickliest member of the League, and how best to handle him. Diana of Themiscyra - Wonder Woman - was forthright, and addressed the problem precisely. "We cannot have Batman thinking he is on trial again. It would be unjust; we all agreed to the security provisions. He walked away from us the last time, and he could well do so again..."

J'onn J'onzz - The Martian Manhunter - reflexively took up the role of Devil's Advocate. "But we cannot have him ignore the situation any longer because of his own prejudices." And experiences went unspoken. "Green Arrow is correct, this has festered, and is now a real and immediate problem."

Oliver Queen - Green Arrow - waved both their concerns away. "Are you kidding me? He's the most brutally honest guy we got. You see him lookin' at his hands? He already knows he's fucked up. My think is, we make it clear the focus is on fixing the problem, not assigning blame, and we'll be okay. I think."

Barry Allen - The Flash - was not as sanguine. "Oh yeah? I can just see him getting all paranoid, thinking we're the ones being - " he made quote marks in the air, " - _influenced_. Or more correctly, more paranoid than usual. Face it, he's the poster boy for paranoid, and just to make sure everyone knows it, he puts the annoyed in paranoid as well."

Oliver doffed his cap and mask, and looked around, irritation with Barry sharpening his tone. "Where the hell is Clark? We sent the signal what, five minutes ago? Bruce's gonna be here any second, we all need to be here."

Hal Jordan - Green Lantern - spoke from the adjoining control room. "Clark will be here in a minute - He's just not using the teleporters. He's entering airlock seven now."

Batman - Bruce Wayne - entered the meeting room. "J'onn? What has happened - ah." He made his way, stiffly formal, not to his seat but to the podium. "This is about the Titans, I take it."

J'onn's voice was cool neutrality personified. "Yes. Please take your seat, Batman." Batman did not move, instead slotting a thumb drive into his handheld and cueing something up. Green Arrow tried to let Batman off the hook, praying Batman wasn't readying some sort of protocol. "Bruce... sit down, dammit. This isn't a trial, it's problem solving, okay?"

While Batman stood resolute at the podium, Superman entered, looking nonplussed. "I'm here. Sorry, fire in Metropolis. uhm... what's going on?"

Flash tried to make light of the situation. "Oh, I don't know... Brand new Omega level threat walking around in Gotham, world potentially coming to an end as a result, the Titans thinking we might be wanting to kill them, and Bats here is doing his stiff-necked ostrich imitation because magic is involved?"

Superman's jaw dropped. "What?"

Martian Manhunter's voice was cold and condemning. "You are not helping, Flash." Other voices rose in agreement of that sentiment. "Superman, the Titans have a real and legitimate grievance. In addition to this, more than a third of their membership have grave reservations about their team's physical safety concerning us. They have reason to think so. The relevant file is cued to your seat; you should view it immediately."

While Superman scanned the file at speed, Diana took up the discussion. Her voice was compassionate. "Bruce, please sit? Oliver is correct, this is a problem solving meeting, not a trial. No recriminations, just discussion followed by a simple vote. To begin: does anyone know of a reason the Titans should be excluded from the League?"

Batman transferred his work to his station, and took his seat. His voice was incisive and business-like. "I must recluse myself. I am the author of this problem."

Hal shook his head. "Then we might end up with a split vote, Bruce."

Oliver was more blunt. "Oh, the hell you do say! We ALL created this mess, Bruce. We all agreed to each and every one of the security amendments. Now they're biting us on the ass, big time. So no recluses, just as no recriminations." His voice softened. "We as in all of us, man. Mistakes happen. This one isn't irreparable yet; let's keep it from going there, okay?" After a moment, Bruce inhaled, exhaled, and nodded assent.

Discussions proceeded, focusing on whether the Titans individually ought to be members. Eventually, Oliver got impatient and went straight to the heart of the matter as directly as one of his arrows. "Okay. Look, simple, direct: up or down, should the Titans be in the League? Let's get that off the table. I say yes, they should be."

J'onn disagreed. "It is not that simple, Oliver. Bruce has good instincts, usually. We should discuss this further if there are concerns."

Bruce gestured negation. "No, J'onn. My instincts are... skewed in this. Rightly or wrongly, what Zatanna did has colored everything I've considered in terms of security ever since that incident. Oliver is right, it's gone too far. I vote yes."

Diana was matter-of-fact. "They are colleagues and co-combatants in the battles we fight. I say yes."

Barry snorted. "There's never been any doubt with me. Hell yeah."

Hal looked relieved at the direction of the voting. "I say yes."

Clark also looked relieved. "I say yes as well."

J'onn made it unanimous. "I also say yes. On the associated subject of the security provisions we have just voted to over-ride: I suggest that subject be tabled until the next general meeting. All in favor?" Six murmured agreements tabled that sticky subject for another day. "Then all that is left is to apologize to them and make invitation. As a group. Agreed?"

Batman stood up. "Where are they now? Not still in the interrogation room, I hope?"

Green Arrow grinned. "Nah. Your Lady has them in the food court; they were getting breakfast."

Batman nodded. "When I left them, they were on hair-trigger alert. I have a suggestion for how to demonstrate we're not coming to attack them when we approach them..."

The Titans had finished their meals and were simply talking with Catwoman, when Gizmo - jolted a touch. "Uhm, ladies...? Something very odd just happened. A whole bunch of access barriers just dropped - " and Gizmo's screens reconfigured, new displays fountaining into being: status screens, control boards, and internal views of portions of the WatchTower. "Jesus, I'm all the way in! No one's in the Monitor room - who's on duty? Who's driving the bus?"

"At the moment, Gizmo, you are." Superman said as Batman led the core of the Justice League directly from the lift to where Catwoman and the Titans sat. "It was the best way we could think of to prove you weren't in danger long enough for us to come to you and speak. Batman?" Around the food court, conversations died as the various heroes and heroines present realized something extraordinary was about to occur.

Batman stepped forward. "I understand the security measures I crafted have led to the perception that I bear ill-will towards the Titans. I further understand how this perception could come into being. However, that perception is simply not true. Diana?" And with that, Wonder Woman's golden lasso fell over Batman's unresisting form and snuggled down on his torso.

Catwoman tensed, her claws extending and locking out, but Wonder Woman's words shocked her to her core. "Peace, sister. This was his idea."

"Sister?" Catwoman asked incredulously.

"Sister." Wonder Woman affirmed, her eyes meeting Selina's. "I am a warrior, possibly the best on this planet. You are a Rogue and a Thief, but your skills would mark you a Scout, were you of my people. You are without doubt the best there is on Earth at what you do. Your courage, integrity, and personal code of conduct are obvious to anyone with the eyes and wits to see, and are irreproachable. I am proud to call you my sister. Themiscyra will welcome you with open arms, on the day you choose to visit."

Batman's voice came steadily. "This _was_ my idea, Catwoman. Wonder Woman?"

"Batman, do you bear the Titans any ill will as a group?" Was Wonder Woman's first question.

"No." was Batman's flat, declaratory answer. "On the contrary, I have relied upon them to protect the West Coast in their way as I and mine do the East Coast."

"Do you bear any member of the Titans any ill will?"

"No."

"Have you any reason to veto the Titans being invited to join the Justice League?"

"None."

"Titans, have you any questions?" Wonder Woman asked. "Understand that while Batman is not compelled to answer your questions as he is mine, if he does answer, he must tell the truth."

Beast Boy nodded and stood up. "Why now? Why not when we first requested a transporter?"

Batman was impassive. "Because I had permitted myself to become biased against anyone who could potentially control minds. That bias is unfair, weakens the League, and cannot be permitted to continue. And because even though we were denying you membership, and even though a third of your membership had very good reason to distrust us and not come here, you did, in order to transmit information that Raven felt I needed to know. That shamed me. I cannot turn back the clock. I can only correct this injustice now, in the only way I can. I hope each of you will accept membership in the Justice League. It should have been offered years ago."

A timeless moment of mental conference later, Gizmo answered for the Titans. "We accept. Membership listings are - updated." She grinned. "What? You gave me access..."

Beast Boy said. "I have one more question." Everyone looked at him, and he changed to a green-hued kitten. "Does this make me look cute?"

Batman snorted. "Don't push your luck."

The issue of membership settled, the heroes - and Catwoman, who simply tagged along and was accepted without reservation, somewhat to her amusement and then dawning concern - adjourned back to the meeting room at Raven's explanation that she had had a vision, and that it was best if all concerned shared it. There they found the table had acquired extra chairs, spaced in between each of the previous seven chairs. Cyborg was waiting for them.. "Hey, y'all! About damn time y'all got your memberships... Uhm - Catwoman?"

Batman's voice was flat. "She's here with me." Cyborg shrugged and let it lay. Catwoman purred internally, even as she schooled herself to perfect feline indifference externally. Clearly Cyborg was aware of the rule concerning her. This was as it should be.

Raven's voice interrupted. "Please take seats, alternating between Titan and not. We will hold hands, and I will expand our link to include all so seated. This will be somewhat disorienting to experience above all, please do not attempt to intervene in what you see. You will not be able to, and your attempt could endanger someone else here."

Martian Manhunter settled, holding an impression recorder. "I will transfer my experience to this, and we will then have an analyzable recording of the vision. Terra, Jinx, please lay your hands on my arms."

Catwoman shrugged and sat between Terra and Cyborg, across from Batman. Ten years of gathering dust went a long ways towards letting old crimes be buried; undoubtedly it helped that she had never even been charged, let alone prosecuted. She was hardly going to be the one to start digging those old matters up when issues this serious were in play. But it bothered her a bit how natural it felt for her to be taking a seat at the meeting table of the Justice League.

Everyone settled, and for a moment, nothing happened. And then the room went away...

Illyana held the locket she had claimed up for Batman to examine. "This locket is extremely similar to - " Batman punched her in the face, and delicate bones broke as her nose was crushed beneath his armored gauntlet. At the precise instant of impact, the taser contacts installed in that glove discharged, and she went down, momentarily paralyzed and blinded with pain.

Batman's voice visibly gave her the anchor she needed to hold on to consciousness thru the impact of her head hitting the gravel and tar surface of the roof. "Flash! Get that thing out of here NOW! Cyborg!" His voice was punctuated by the banshee howl of Cyborg's sonic cannon discharging. A portal opened beneath Illyana, and the blast plowed into - and through - her unarmored torso even as it propelled her against the portal and pinned her there. It flared red around her, the ritual used to summon her preventing her from passing thru to safety, her lifeblood blasting out across the surface like a nightmare glaze, deepening the red by the moment. Illyana's dying shriek of agony was like nothing a human throat could produce and remain intact, which was appropriate, since hers was shredding beneath Cyborg's assault.

But the portals of Illyana Rasputin are two way. And if she could not pass thru to Limbo... still could the energies of Limbo pass thru to her.

The fires of Chaos blazed up around Limbo's Mistress, and as Cyborg's sonic cannon ran it's capacitor out and entered it's cool down/recharge mode, Superman's heat vision lanced into the roiling cauldron of energies silhouetting the writhing form that had been Illyana Rasputin. Abruptly, the portal rotated on its axis and seemingly exploded, the shockwave tumbling all the League as it enlarged dramatically to more than twice the surface area of the building roof Batman stood upon. An indescribably violent column of writhing red on crimson on incarnadine energies discharged vertically into the sky with a roar of displaced, superheated air, the sky went brick red, and a moment later out of the raging column strode the Darkchylde, in all her nightmare chthonic majesty.

She raised her sword, blazing as if it were the column still erupting behind her in miniature, and as far as the eye could see, portals exploded into existence as though shaped charges were burning thru reality - and then her hordes came on wings of rage and bloodlust.

 _ **"YOU MISBEGOTTEN BETRAYERS...! BREAK YOUR WORD TO ME? TRY TO KILL ME? LOOK YOU UPON THE CONSEQUENCES, AND DESPAIR !"**_ echoed across the sky. The Darkchylde's eyes fell on Batman, still standing on the rooftop he and Illyana Rasputin had met on, and that fast the Batman was seized at the arms, legs, and neck by dozens of arms reaching thru a pentagram of portals that opened behind him. _"_ _ **YOU**_ _WILL LIVE._ _ **AND BEAR WITNESS."**_

Superman's heat vision blasted out again, this time at full terrifying strength. But a portal opened in between them... and his dire gaze burned upon the unshielded matter / anti-matter power core of the Watchtower. A moment later, a second sun blazed in distant Earth orbit. The EMP shockwave killed every satellite in orbit with line of sight to the blast. Green Arrow, coordinating from the Watchtower, and all the reinforcing might of the Justice League, were obliterated.

And the Darkchylde - grew, both in size and terrifyingly, in intensity. " _Ahhh..._ _ **Free**_ _. Free to go - but first, free to_ _ **act**_ _."_ Improbably, laughter, high and wild, echoed across the sky, before ending in a wrenching burble. Other laughter came then, low and appreciative, as if enjoying the spectacle.

The Martian Manhunter was next. Feeling the deaths of all he had cared upon them for a second time, he initiated a supersonic attack upon the now utterly demonic Darkchylde, intending to tear her apart. But again, a portal interposed - and the Martian Manhunter found himself deep inside the event horizon of a black hole and plunging eternally deeper down a funnel of gravitic doom. Behind him, the portal closed.

Cyborg's sonic cannon enabled, and he instantly discharged it again, trying for the head shot. But another portal interposed, and he scored - on Green Lantern. That worthy's attack went wild, as he staggered under the attack from behind.

Wonder Woman also closed, and she actually got to the Darkchylde. Her sword cleaved down - and the Darkchylde parried, smashing Wonder Woman's blade to the outside. Wonder Woman instantly swung with her shield arm, bashing the Darkchylde with her shield and sending her staggering. Then Superman was there, fists flying, tears streaming, face set, determined to crush the worst threat their League had ever faced...

And stopped dead, with Darkchylde's blade completely thru him, entering low on the side of his abdomen and exiting just under his armpit on the other side, blade sunk to the quillions. The Darkchylde leered, and poured power thru her blade, arching Superman's back as he tried with all his might to scream - and was unable to draw breath to do so. Hellfire erupted from his eyes and mouth.

Wonder Woman wasted no time, swinging her blade high while Darkchylde was seemingly distracted - and her sword arm was sheared off at the elbow by a portal no larger than a dinner plate that manifested behind her - edge on. She therefore missed Superman immolating to ashes, his bones crumbling at the Darkchylde's feet. _"That's one..."_ the Darkchylde murmured, as a skull rose and began orbiting her.

Then the Darkchylde was on her. _"I made a study, Amazon..."_ She said gloatingly _. "Your bracelets are not nearly as impressive when they're not paired - and your shield can only be in one place at a time."_ And her sword came down like a guillotine blade - in partnership with four more portals.

Diana of Themiscyra fell, literally dismembered. Only her head and shield arm remained attached to her torso. Hellfire erupted at each of her stumps, and it was her turn to try to scream as the eldritch flames fed upon her gouting blood and wounded flesh. _"Friend of Fire you may be, but these flames are no friend of yours. Thus, no regeneration for you. Tell your Gods this was a fight I did not initiate - but before the All, I intend to win. If they attempt to intervene, I'll turn Olympus into Vesuvius, and eat their barbecued remains in the fires thereof._ " Diana attempted to throw her shield at the Darkchylde, fighting to the last... and her shield landed at the Darkchylde's hooves even as her soul transited to bear the Darkchylde's message. _"That's two..."_ As her skull rose _._

Meanwhile, Green Lantern and Cyborg were both beset by the Darkchylde's minions. For every one they destroyed, two more came. Suddenly, Cyborg flailed, emitting utterly inhuman sounds of feedback, and fell at the Darkchylde's hooves as she stood beneath them. In her hand she held - components, and what appeared to be several segments of spine. Her blade fell, and Cyborg's head rolled free. Hellfire gouted in two places, heavy oily smoke rose, and a third skull, half of armor plate, and with optic now glowing a hellish, flickering red, joined the other two in stately round. _"That's three."_

Green Lantern turned to flee, to regroup with Flash, organize a counter attack - and crashed into the Earth as the Darkchylde redirected his headlong flight via portal. Stunned, he could only lay there as she approached, seemingly taking all the time in the world. Then a red streak blew past him - and seemingly exploded as the Flash shredded himself upon hundreds of tiny portals the Darkchylde opened between them. She was coated in gore - and then hellfire erupted at her feet, and she emerged clean, holding a skull still clad in red. _"And that's four..."_

Green Lantern's ring flared to life as he desperately tried to rally his wits. He raised his fist to her, determined to resist to the end - and she caught his hand and casually tore his ring finger off. As he screamed thinly, she ate it, ring and all. _"Ahh... that'll take some digestion. And you make five. I must thank you, Harold Jordan, for resisting to the end. You make a fine sacrifice. Worry not; I don't take souls. Your life, and your skull, are all I want of you."_ And a final gout of hellfire consumed the last of the Justice League. She reached down, and collected the skull. It joined the others.

The Darkchylde held out her hand, and the locket fell thru a portal into it. She opened it, made a gesture as if removing something - and a ghostly figure of a female security guard arose. _"You are blameless in all this, Edna Mae Jones. I have no quarrel with you. Go in peace."_ Five tiny flares of eldritch spellweaving erupted from the locket, and she snapped it closed. _"And a tidy profit I show. Now, as for you, Batman... You will live._ _ **Eternally**_ _. As my Herald. And your Gotham will be the capital of my Limbo."_

"God in Heaven." Superman said as he sat in his seat. "She - she killed us. She killed all of us."

Batman's voice was grim business. "That was not us. That was a much younger Justice League, one that had none of our teamwork or tactics: their Cyborg, and then Superman, attempted killshots, while everyone else simply watched. That said, there is a wealth of intel to gather from this."

"Yeah." Cyborg said. "J'onn, can you load that memory crystal up? We need to tear this apart."

Batman held up a thumb drive. "It will take a few moments for the computers to process the data crystal. In the meantime, I have supplementary material on Magik that should be considered."

Green Arrow snorted. "You have material supplementary to a JCAS Section 12 analysis." He shook his head. "Of course you do. What have you got, Batman?"

Batman slotted the thumb drive, and handwritten notes and drawings cascaded into being in the holofield above the middle of the table "I raided Marvel Comics' archives, and copied the developer notes on the character Magik. The version of the character that made it to print in this universe has been significantly reduced in capabilities, and her published background was - sanitized, shall we say, to fit the audience the comic book was aimed at."

Everyone looked grim as the import of what Batman said sank in. "In other words - the JCAS analysis comes up short." Superman said softly.

"Yes." Batman said flatly. "Her 'teleport discs' being sharp on their edges is a concept they discussed at length, and decided to severely downplay, so as not to compete with the character of Wolverine. She also may or may not have the abilities to 'assess someone's timeline - in essence see everything they have done for as far back as she wishes - and to see potential futures before they play out. Keep this in mind: lying to her about anything said or done is absolutely - ah. The imagery is ready. J'onn?"

The room was silent as the imagery ran in slow motion. Then Green Lantern and Green Arrow both dumped virtual pointers into the holofield at the same time, directed at different aspects of the fight. They looked at each other, did a fast round of Rock-Paper-Scissors, and Lantern spoke up.

"Back it up three seconds, please? Right, watch right here. See that? That is the point origin of the disc she manifests, the one that takes Diana's arm. Now look at her head. There is no way she can see that point, or even Diana's arm, not with Superman's fist knocking her head back like that. Now run it forward - slow... That flare of light? That's atomic level disintegration in play, folks. Her circles cleave the atoms of the elements that make up the air, that's the source of that white blaze on the edges of the circle. It's atoms rushing in, getting cleaved, and from there you get electrons and positrons, and likely some neutron activity, and God alone knows what kind of exotics. That could be a means of detecting her transits - by looking for extremely focused neutron emissions, or exotic particle emissions. Tachyons are almost a given..."

Batman, Cyborg, and Gizmo all made notes. Cyborg spoke up. "Okay. Arrow?"

"Rotate the image, please, and back it up about forty seconds... Right. Watch her blade. Diana comes in, Magik parries - that is a goddamn huge width on Magik's blade, got to be at least a foot across - "

"More like eighteen inches." Diana commented calmly. "And in this form, she's either as strong as that version of me, or else her blade has qualities we cannot see from here. Her command of her local area is almost flawless. I beg your pardon, Oliver. You have the floor. I'll speak after you."

Green Arrow waved her apology away. "Nothin' I wasn't going to say, but you know swordplay a hell of a lot better than I do. What I saw was - this. Right here. Where's her sword?" Everyone watched as for a half second, Magik's blade simply wasn't there. Then - " Aaa-nd zorch, right thru him, hot knife thru butter. If the blade had been there throughout, he'd have been fine, it would have been between them and no way for her to get any leverage. Instead, she turns it off, gets her hand into position, and just nails him. While conjuring the circle that gets Diana. Without line of sight. That what you talking about with the see the future thing, Bruce?"

"Potentially. Diana?"

Diana stood. "Back it up to when I attack, please? Thank you, J'onn. I swing, she parries - note how my sword stops just a little late? Impossible to tell if that's her strength or a repelling effect of her blade. But here, the shield bash - she's already in motion, preparing for Clark's assault. She rolled with the shield, actually used its impact. Her combat style resembles yours in this aspect, Bruce. This is how you fight - very energy efficient, making use of the opponent's actions..." Diana was silent as she impassively witnessed her temporospatial doppleganger's arm being severed. "And right here. Her arm keeps moving back for a full second after it is severed - either she didn't know her arm was gone, or was lost to battle rage already. Either way, it confirms Hal's determination that her portals are sharp beyond belief. Note the arm - and sword - then fall thru the portal? Disarming, in more ways than one." A few grim chuckles were heard. "And then she indicates that she had studied us, and then she challenges the Gods themselves." Diana shook her head and resumed her seat. "That Justice League was merely a momentary side show for her. Her focus was elsewhere."

Superman stood up. "Is anyone in any doubt of what happened to that League's J'onn and Barry? They both attempted charge attacks, and were killed doing so?" No one demurred. "And are we in agreement, that my - that that Superman's heat vision was redirected to blow up the WatchTower?" Again, no one disagreed. "Then attacks from range made at her are very likely to be redirected against us. Melee attacks are literally going to be a knife fight - with Magik controlling the vast majority of those knives. We're left with area effect attacks - explosions, gasses, that sort of thing. Batman, Green Arrow, you do those best among us - Raven?"

Raven stood. "I have been in spiritual contact with her. Magik is not here by choice, and all her actions have been informed by this fact. We know what she's been asking: She wants to know the origin of a golden locket - likely the one we all saw - and she wants to know who gave the Joker the ritual that brought her here. If any of us were in her place, we would be asking the same things, if in different ways. Please, we've seen the utter disaster frontal assault might bring. We should talk to her, and see if common ground might be achievable. I believe all she wants to do is leave."

Batman also stood. "Raven is correct; we're getting ahead of ourselves. We've looked at the actual fight, but there are several other things to consider here. For one, who in their right mind would consider willfully starting a fight in the middle of Gotham? I certainly wouldn't sign off on any such thing, particularly given what we've seen tonight. Who did arrange for Magik to be brought here, and why? Also, The first voice we all heard laughing was the Joker - but who is that second voice? And who the devil is Edna Mae Jones?"

Catwoman surprised herself by standing. Abruptly all eyes were on her. "I come from a rather different background than everyone else here..." she temporized to the amused agreement of everyone else there. She hesitated just a moment, trying to pull her impressions into a form that words could be set to. "The government is looking at what happened to Arkham, and they are terrified she will do it again. They aren't paying attention to the fact that she didn't kill anyone. I am. I don't care about Arkham - the place was a decrepit pile halfway to being a ruin, and honestly, it may yet turn out to be a blessing in disguise that it's gone. From the start of this, I've been concerned with the missing people, and what she might be doing with them. I still am, but having seen that vision? Whoever that second voice is, it was getting exactly what it wanted. And that makes Magik either a tool or a patsie, or both, and everyone here a potential sacrifice. I'm with Raven and Batman. We have way too many unanswered questions, and she likely has answers. We need to talk to her."

Raven sank into her seat, visibly tired. Beast Boy came around and rubbed her shoulders while Ravager beat Catwoman and Terra to the food center and procured hot tea and a cinnamon roll for her teammate. Terra gave way to Catwoman with good grace, and Catwoman obtained hot chocolate for herself and a mug of the green smoothie Batman had devised years ago. That she simply brought to him at the podium, receiving a murmured "Thank you, Selina. I can use it..." before claiming his vacated seat. At the look Jinx bestowed upon Batman's personal meal-in-a-glass pick-me-up, Selina grinned and leaned over. "Looks like it was dipped out of a swamp, doesn't it? It doesn't taste bad, though; just maybe sweet, kind of vegetal. Texture takes a little getting used to. Don't sneer at it, though, that stuff is potent. It looks even worse when he mixes coffee and dark chocolate in..."

Meanwhile, Batman picked up the mug and took a mouthful, slurping slightly as he did so. This caused Gizmo, who had also been wondering what in the world (or other places) could be in that mug, to giggle. Her mirth spread virally across the mindlink, and Superman snorted as he tried not to guffaw, which caused Ravager to snicker, and Starfire to clap her hands to her mouth to stifle her amusement at the sight of the feared Dark Knight slurping his smoothie, which led both Beast Boy and Flash to both pantomime slurping smoothie at the same time... and suddenly the room erupted into laughter as Bruce quite deliberately did it again.

Just like that, the spectre of 'Lord Batman' was banished forever, replaced by the memory of Batman winking at Beast Boy before letting a full two and a half second long belch rumble forth. Dead silence reigned.

"It's listed in the menu as 'Vegan Smoothie #1' if anyone would like to try some." Bruce said.

While the Justice League deliberated, Illyana briefly considered her options, and elected to go poke the wasp's nest and revisit the Clock Tower. She'd had breakfast, she had several hours before she could accept the keys to her suite at the Desmesne, and she really needed to make arrangements to unburden herself of her remaining prisoners - all but the Joker, of course. She'd been rather skeptical of Valentina's abilities to gain useful information from the Clown, but she and Bartolome continued to impress her...

So thinking, she transited to the main room of the Clock Tower - and stopped dead in her tracks.

The wall of monitors and the command dias were missing. Bookcases and artworks - she absently noted an original Royo - decorated the walls instead. And there, right in front of her, was a playpen holding a baby. And between the playpen and her stood a young girl, her expression one of shock.

Then she charged, and enveloped one of Illyana's legs in a heartfelt bearhug. "AUNT ILLY! You're back, and it's not yet my birthday!" She looked up into Illyana's wondering eyes. "Did you bring me Twizzlers?"

Barbara Grayson-Gordon walked in, and smiled. "Oh, hey, Illyana. We weren't - " She stopped, noting Illyana's guarded expression. "Why - Oh. No Twizzlers. This is your first time. Good, we were wondering when it was going to happen. Mary, would you please go get Illyana's letter?"

Mary instantly let go and stepped back. Illyana absently noted that little Mary carried herself as a martial artist did. _Almost inevitable,_ Illyana thought to herself, _given who her parents, aunts, uncles, and godparents are_. Then Mary returned, carrying a folded and sealed packet of parchment, which she gave to her mother. Barbara in turn offered it to Illyana. "You left this for yourself. I wouldn't be walking if not for you, and Mary and Martha wouldn't exist without you. You charged me to say this to you exactly, so listen carefully: You are and always will be welcome in our home, as often and as long as you hold us dear in your heart. I know you're off balance right now. So go, and read that somewhere you can think about it. We'll see you when you come back."


	7. Chapter 7

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: Time for another fine installment. I contributed some small input as I had a hankering to write some analyst comments about Illyana which apparently fit right into LordGrise's nefarious plans.

 **Part 7a**

Illyana found herself in the dining room of Yorgies. For a moment, she thought she'd slid thru time again, or better, found herself adrift - but no, the infernal summoning still had her anchored, and she was still in the same reality. She glanced thru the window - whenever she was, it was morning. From the sounds in the kitchen, someone was already astir. Thoughtfully, she summoned her cell phone, powered it up, and waited for it to boot up and synch. The tone it made as it came online she couldn't avoid, so she muffled it by slipping it under her arm and up into her armpit. When it vibrated, she counted to five, and withdrew it to check the date.

She was back to when she had left from - lost less than five minutes, apparently. _Good._ She looked at the bit of parchment, sealed with an unmarked bleb of plain white candle wax, and tucked it away. Not for the first time, she wondered about alternate universe versions of herself - she'd never met one, but she honestly could not think of anything that would induce her to leave a note for a younger version of herself, so for the moment she let it be. Thoughtfully, she turned off the cell phone and dropped it back into Limbo, and opened a portal.

"Good morning, miss." A female voice greeted her in English. The voice had a bare trace of a Russian accent. "Took a wrong turn at Albequerque?"

Illyana looked to the kitchen, where a woman who was most definitely not the babushka from the night before was standing, and smiled. She liked the woman's spirit. "Something like that. I apologize for intruding. I did not mean to disturb."

The woman smiled. "You haven't disturbed. The dining room is a public room, even if the door is locked, and I was hoping to have the opportunity to thank you for protecting my family last night. Please feel free to come by again; you know your food, and my mother tells me you speak excellent Russian. It would do my children good to have some practice speaking with someone new, and - "

Illyana raised her hand, and the woman stopped speaking on cue. "I really have to go. My cell phone was probably traced, and in a minute or so you're just likely to have a Superman sized hole in your wall - or worse - if I don't go. So please forgive me, and I'll try to come again during normal business hours, when that isn't so likely. Ta!" So saying, a portal opened, and she stepped thru.

Not even a minute later, the Martian Manhunter phased thru the front door of the restaurant, followed by Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash, who had brought them thru the wall without doing damage to the building. They all looked around, and focused on the by then highly amused witch. "Good morning. I am Marya. Welcome to Yorgie's." She gazed upon the Martian Manhunter. "I can feel you scratching about at my mind, sir. That is not how heroes are reputed to behave... but I shall answer your question, unspoken though it be. She has left."

The Manhunter's face did not change expression, although he was taken aback at Marya's statement. He had been subtle, and had barely touched her - only enough to determine lack of hostility. "A pity. Perhaps when she arrives another time you could let us know? She does, after all, seem to frequent your establishment for at least one meal a day..."

Marya continued to smile, but the Manhunter could sense his suggestion had been offensive to her. "She has eaten here once, saved my husband from a beating or worse, demonstrated to my children that guardians do exist and will come when needed, and said this morning was an accident. Could I ask what it is that she's done that you are looking for her?"

Flash spoke up. "She's the one who burned down Arkham Asylum. She's also torched a man's home upstate. She's dangerous, lady."

Marya nodded, seemingly unimpressed. "And yet, not a single person killed, is it not so? The media is full of the miracle - no staff harmed, all the patients evacuated. And all the very, very dangerous inmates - nothing has been found of them, true?"

Superman took a step forward. "Yes, that is true. But, ma'am, we have reason to believe - "

"And I would wager no one has even attempted to ask her just why she did such a thing - if indeed she did. I cannot say. The man whose home was burned - that would be the home of Georgi Tsulkov, no?"

Wonder Woman spoke in respectful tones. "Mother... how do you know this?"

"Because it was his thugs that threatened my husband! She went to his home to impress upon him that our restaurant was off limits until they learned better manners. If his home burned, then it is because he was too stupid to listen!"

Marya took a deep breath, and visibly calmed herself. "She has protected my family - twice. Once last night, and again this morning, by departing without eating, rather than bring the prospect of damage to my home when you lot arrived. Know you this: this is Accorded Neutral Ground, and we do not discriminate here as long as the peace is kept. She is welcome here... as are you, as long as you offer no violence is initiated on these grounds. Now." She tossed the startled Manhunter a set of keys. "Unlock the doors, if you would; breakfast is just about ready, and we'll be opening in ten minutes anyway. You all may sign autographs and take selfies with my children."

Looking very much nonplussed, J'onn did as he had been directed, just as three children burst from the kitchen, the eldest carefully carrying a cell phone.

* * *

Amanda Waller stood in her office and watched the footage of Georgi Tsulkov's fortress-mansion burning as though it was made of charcoal briquettes and balsa wood instead of reinforced cement and steel beams, and was venomously silent.

She would not shed one tear for the relocated ex - KGB officer; he was Mafia, and that meant he slept in his big-boy pants. He'd deal, or sink; it was none of her concern what happened to him.

What would happen later in the day when all the other oligarchs of various organizations started calling their Congressmen and Senators... That was tiresomely predictable, and the distilled essence of all those calls was going to land squarely on her plate, she was mordantly sure.

And she had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to address that steaming pile of political pressure and semi - legitimate national security interest when it landed.

She held eighteen B - and C - list wannabe supervillains, and three genuine A - listers. Unfortunately, the one she needed most - Enchantress - was currently unavailable. And the other two - Gorilla Grodd and the Brain - were masterminds, not occultists or powerhouses.

Waller went back to her desk, and opened the file on Darkchilde. There were updates, she saw; but as she skimmed thru them, her headache deepened.

From the classified Department Defense Darkchilde dossier:

In the comics, Illyana Rasputin is portrayed similar to any other teenager. In typical comicdom fashion there are endless thought bubbles about social and teenage angst. Excessive emotional outburst and social tension.

That all vanishes upon her resurrection in comicdom after over twenty years after her published death. Never a thought bubble. Never a hint at what she is actually thinking. You only get her words and deeds, never her thoughts. This was apparently quite deliberate according to the publisher Marvel. 'We wanted her to be an unknown. You were not to ever understand just what was going on inside that head of hers. Just how she viewed things and why.'

The take-away being, one that her comic teammates learned well, was they you could never fully trust what she did as you had no idea why she was doing it.

 _I do not believe I am reading a classified report on a comic book character_ was Waller's thought, as she ruthlessly quashed the impulse to throw something across the room. She refocused her attention on her computer screen and continued with the update.

Another interesting facet is her lack of the classic comic book nemeses. Most comics reflect the reality of the super hero experience in that heroes have repeating villains: X-Men against the Sentinels, the Hellfire Club, the League of Evil Mutants. Captain America against Hydra, Thor against Loki, the list goes on and on.

But not the Darkchilde. It is a very disturbing facet of her narrative that she has no nemesis since her resurrection in the comic books. She has foes… but she tends to kill them, particularly if they are actually striving to kill her. One shot, that's all they get.

 _Sounds sensible_ was Waller's thought. _How we ought to do business with all metas, on any offense!_ She flipped to another update, this one for a psych profile.

How does she think? What are her decision making processes? The comics only offer clues at best. One chilling sequence in the comics is when she leaves Kitty Pryde (the before mentioned childhood friend) alone with Scott Summers (aka Cyclops, and frequent team leader) after he had killed Prof. Xavier. Ms. Pryde had homicidal desires and fantasies in regards to Mr. Summers; the Subject was aware of this, and not only left Ms. Pryde alone with him, she prevented any intervention by anyone else.

Ms. Pryde and Mr. Summers did come to an understanding, after Ms. Pryde almost killed Mr. Summers via her phasing powers. When confronted about the incident, the Subject says "Things needed to be worked out. Now they are. We can move on."

One can only imagine just how uncertain Mr. Summers was in regards to the Subject following this incident. And did the Subject know that Mrs. Pryde would, in the end, not kill Mr. Summers? Did the Subject truly believe, or in some manner know, that Ms. Pryde merely needed the opportunity to share her grief with Mr. Summers? Unknown. But if the actual Subject is in any way similar to her comic book version, then we are faced with an entity with potentially vast powers, the will to use those powers, a low empathy index, and what appears to be, at least at times, an irrational decision making processes.

That is not a good combination.

 _Better and better..._ Waller thought. _Professional ass-covering, doomsaying, and Captain Obvious level summation, all in the same set of paragraphs._ She flipped to another profiler's report, and extracted a bottle of chilled water from her office refrigerator.

The Subject demonstrates profound emotional detachment to almost everybody, even her brother, whom she allowed to be infused with 'demonic energy' in order that he might gain some insight into her worldview. The stated reason for doing this, in the source materials, was the Subject's stated love for her brother. To call this 'very disturbing' would be a gross understatement. It must be kept in mind that the source material of this act is, after all, a comic book, which is written and edited for sensationalism; however, taken at face value, this episode would indicate a very damaged view of reality, extremely poor socialization, a weak grasp of consequence, and a profoundly debased sense of self esteem.

 _And this is the best insight professional profilers can give me._ Waller thought while her stomach bubbled with acid frustration. She typed in a random page number.

Her planning ability at both the tactical and strategic level is first class, and there are numerous examples of the Subject throwing fights in order to either get to where she wishes to be, or to manipulate people. Her level of power varies significantly in the source materials provided. This may just be writer plot artifacts, or may also reflect her afore-mentioned tendency to throw fights and generally conceal her true capabilities.

One consistent indicator of power level and also her emotional state of the moment throughout the source materials is her physical appearance. The more demonic she appears, the greater her demonstrated capabilities. One could hypothesize that the guise of mortality either hinders her abilities, or her ability to express those abilities. With that as a reference, the Subject's appearance during the destruction of Arkham Asylum should only be considered a reference level of power and _not_ the upper limit. The comics have the Subject take forms that result in even greater power.

 _One could hypothesize that the guise of mortality either hinders her abilities, or her ability to express those abilities._ Waller reread that sentence three times, turning it over in her mind and attempting to draw some subtle insight from it. _What was the functional difference the writer was trying to express?_ She wondered. She keyed in another, lower page number.

Weaponizing the fire that the Subject deployed at first appears to be greatly desirable. But then one must note, it already appears to have been weaponized. And just what do you do with fire that can consume anything... and how do you turn it off? It would be most unfortunate to accidentally incinerate the entire planet while simply trying to blow up some insurgents.

 _Wow. Just... wow_ was all Waller could think. _And we pay people for these insights. Just howinhell are we supposed to accomplish this? Develop the Department of Defense Sorcerous Operations Unit?_ She went back to the original, first threat evaluation report, the one that was now practically public information, and went to the summation.

The psychological Red Team (worst case analysis team) review is very alarming. A sociopath when calm, a raging psychopath when her temper is aroused; strong and repeated implications of profound and untreated physical and emotional abuse, calculated and intended to bring about a damaged personality with the intrinsic nature to act without regard to consequences. Now combine that with the powers and abilities demonstrated, and we find ourselves with a creature that may well have apocalyptic potential. Accordingly, the Darkchilde is recommended to be considered a Threat Level Omega.

Idly, Waller paged to the citations section... and her eyes widened in shock and then narrowed. _Comic books were bad enough, but fan fiction websites?_ She opened a new document, and sent forth her instructions.

I want facts, not fictions. I am aware our source materials are comic books, but fanfiction site materials are not to be used unless it can be shown to have been written by someone attached to one or another of her properties or titles at some point. Even then, I want those materials considered separately.

Petition the National Security Court to covertly subpoena all written materials generated in the development and the later redevelopment of the character Illyana Rasputin, AKA Magik, AKA Darkchilde, particularly the video game materials. We need to know what the limits of her powers are, and what her weaknesses and vulnerabilities might be.

I do _NOT_ want any of the actual individuals involved in the aforementioned character development projects contacted in any way whatsoever. There are far too many people to sequester; any attempts at interviews or interrogations will inevitably and rapidly erode what media and public awareness control we have over this situation. We will confine ourselves to documentary materials only.

Having done so, she sat back and finished off her water. It wasn't enough, she knew. She was going to be ordered to commit, she could feel it coming; the only question was when. It was her responsibility to have a menu of options available for when that call came.

* * *

Illyana approached the building housing The Daily Planet, expecting security guards, cameras, and metal detectors. Cameras there were aplenty, but only two security guards, both manning a reception desk central to the lobby.

"Daily Planet offices? Forty three is their front desk, ma'am. Elevators right there to twenty, switch to the elevators across the hall there, and then again on forty, and then off when you get to forty-three. The Planet has that whole floor, so you can't miss 'em, ma'am. Have a good day!"

Illyana approached the elevators, then spun on her heel and returned to the security guard. "I'm sorry, but... bathrooms?"

"Yes, ma'am, right over in the corner there. Not at all. Have a good day!"

Illyana suspected they said that a lot.

The bathroom was reasonably clean, pleasant smelling... and the entrance was in the view of no less than three cameras, by Illyana's estimate. That was fine; she wasn't staying that long. Illyana took a stall, sat without undoing anything, and began assessing the timelines of previous users. In one eternal moment, she followed a staffer in reverse up to the bullpen of the Daily Planet, and she had the timeline of her true quarry: a janitor. And just like that, she had every nook and corner no one else ever went into on the floors. She even knew where Clark Kent's glassed-in office was, with his name on the door. She returned her consciousness to her own present, focused on a particular supply closet, and found it dark and quiet. She stepped out of the stall and washed her hands to maintain tradecraft against the always-assumed-present, and to wait for the moment no one else was in the room... and stepped thru.

The supply closet was surprisingly roomy, for a closet; it was also surprisingly well - ventilated. A glance upwards showed why: an airshaft, almost four feet on a side, went up uninterrupted to a skylight however many stories above. Grilles could be seen at regular distances on two sides, and a ladder mounted to the wall ascended a third, making it obvious what the shaft was there for... But Illyana knew what it's real purpose was.

She grinned, the smile of delight that no one ever saw anymore, and toyed with the idea of simply waiting for Superman to literally drop in. A moment's concentration put paid to that idea; it was far too likely he would interpret the situation as an attempted ambush, or worse, an attempted kidnapping or other attack upon his wife and/or extended family. So the original plan it would be: literally leaving a note on his desk with her cell phone number. She composed herself, conjured her note, folded and warded it, and stepped out into the hallway - and followed the sounds of organized bedlam.

"Mr. Kent's desk?" She asked a random fellow-traveler as she entered the room. "Over there, can't miss it." was the reply, accompanied by a wave at a wall of glass.

Illyana made her way over; Kent's office had it's lights turned off, and was unoccupied. Illyana took a moment to set the moment in her memory, and slipped the note under the obligingly spacious sill of the door. Mission accomplished, she turned to go...

"Hi. Been a while since Clark had anyone sticking notes under his door - these days it's usually telephone messages. Who're you?"

Illyana cursed mentally as she met the piercing eyes of none other than Lois Lane - the woman Illyana wanted least to encounter in the entire building.

"Who I am is none of your concern. Please excuse me; I have places to go and people to see." Illyana answered coolly, withdrawing a step. Lois just stared at her, and Illyana hoped the shock of being addressed so would stick for just a second more as she turned and walked away -

" Stop, if you please. " Lois said clearly, in Russian. Illyana stopped; if she didn't, it was overwhelmingly likely Lane would shout her name, and things would go downhill very quickly from there.

Lois walked up to Illyana in an almost predatory fashion. " I thought so. Illyana Rasputin. You're a wanted woman, lady. Why are you here? "

Illyana answered her in Russian, since it seemed the best way to maintain some semblance of privacy. " Because Ba - Bruce isn't opening his mail. I have a prisoner transfer to arrange, Ms. Lane. If you know who I am, then you must understand that you are absolutely the last person in this building I wanted to meet. Your husband will think I have accosted you, or that I am stalking you, and nothing could be further from the truth. Walk away, and let me go in peace. Please. "

If Lois was at all intimidated, she didn't show it at all. "Alright, I will. As soon as you answer three questions for me."

Illyana sighed. "Ask."

Lois turned away. "In my office. In return, I put in a good word for you. I have coffee; you look like you could use a cup."

In her office, Lois busied herself for a moment with her coffee machine, but not wasting any time. _Where the hell is Clark?_ she thought as she poured what she had into two cups and set the machine to brew a fresh pot. She turned, and found that there were a dozen donuts in three distinct varieties of white donuts on her desk, neatly arrayed on a plate. Illyana raised an eyebrow, selected one coated in powdered sugar, and took a bite.

"By my word, these are free of any taint." Illyana said formally. "Powdered sugar, french vanilla, and peppermint. White, for the color of a truce, or a parlay. From Barclay's, in Gotham."

Lois knew that in certain Eastern European traditions, truces were marked with food and drink; it appeared Ms. Rasputin was very traditional in certain respects. She offered both cups. "The coffee is just coffee, as far as I know. I have real cream and sugar, or honey, if you like. So, first question: Why did you burn down Arkham Asylum?"

Illyana accepted the cup on her left, and sipped it black, raising an eyebrow at the strength: Mrs. Lane liked her coffee weapons-grade strong. It went well with the donut, though. "Because the place was a reservoir of arcane energies that was used as part of the Joker's ritual to summon me. Such things, once they are successfully done, become - imprinted, you might say, on the site; it becomes easier to repeat the ritual, and requires progressively less energy. I am not here of my free will, and I do not wish to be forced to return at the whims of others."

It was Lois' turn to raise an eyebrow at the candor of the response, even as she bit into a french vanilla donut. It was heavenly, and Lois promised herself an extra session at the gym to work it off. Smoothly, she mentally reshuffled and went to the next big one, sensing that three questions was literally all she was going to have. She was suddenly glad she hadn't asked Illyana where Clark was. "What are your immediate intentions while here?"

Illyana smiled mirthlessly, and Lois berated herself for how openly she had worded her question. But Illyana answered. "I'll go with the spirit of that question, rather than a literal interpretation. I intend to find the author of the ritual that was used, express my extreme displeasure at being so used, and then undo the ritual so that I can leave. Without harming anyone innocent in the process."

Lois' reporter reflexes pounced. "Without harming anyone innocent in the process. What does that mean?" The instant the words were out of her mouth, she could have slapped herself. That was her third question...

Illyana drew forth a golden locket from somewhere, and offered it to Lois. "Please be careful with this. I will need it back." Almost despite herself, Lois accepted it.

The locket was warm, and covered on both sides with an inscription that almost resembled some sort of solomonaic seal. There was a sense of presence - it opened, and Lois gasped at the mental impression she received of a terrified young woman, somehow spread across a dark well like some sort of sacrifice, awaiting the moment she would be rent asunder and consumed...!

The impression cut off, and Lois blinked to find that Illyana had taken the locket from her hands and was closing it gently. Before Lois could formulate a question, Illyana explained.

"That young woman was the human sacrifice Joker performed; her life force jump-started the ritual. Such rituals always have a condition attached that, upon completion, makes available the second portion of the ritual that returns the summoned being to whence they came, at their will. Need I explain what the power source for that return journey is supposed to be?"

Lois shook her head in horror and revulsion, and Illyana continued. "Precisely. I won't do it. I will not consummate the summoning, I will not be responsible for Edna Mae Smith being obliterated. To say nothing of the condition that was set, which I won't do either. I will find another way."

Illyana finished her donut and the partial cup of coffee, and stood. "And those are your three questions, Ms. Lane. Well bargained, and done." Lois also stood, and they shook hands. Illyana took a vanilla donut, and fresh steam wafted from her cup as it refilled. "I will take my leave now." And then she fell thru a portal that opened beneath her and was gone.

Lois grabbed her cell phone, and physically stopped herself from hitting the panic button. She instead hit a preset, and a moment later was talking to the Watchtower.


	8. Chapter 8

**Arkham Asylum**

LordGrise AUTHOR'S NOTE: Five months and change. That's how long since I updated. And the previous chapter to this one took seven weeks, as I recall. For anyone who is still following this, thank you for your patience.

The delays are not writer's block or lack of interest; I had a one hundred and seven day stretch of full eight hour shifts, with some twelve hour shifts in there for fun, with only six days off in all that period of time. Coffee and soda and even energy drinks tend to stop working when you never get a day away from them. On the plus side, I found myself doing an awful lot of little two paragraph scene outlines and character clips during this period of time. The rest of the story will benefit from all that...

Chapter Eight is here, and Lord and Lady willing, the next chapter won't take nearly as long. LadySetta (my wife), Machiavelli, Chris Dee, and Dhalpin all had my back during this extremely difficult time, reading what I had, critiquing, and enhancing. DHalpin in particular offered some bits during the assembly portion of this chapter; the bathtub scene at the start here is his. I cannot pick out Magik - appropriate songs to save my life; he makes it look easy...

Dhalpin author's note: Sometimes life gets in the way of hobby writing. Such befell LordGrise. Remember folks, authors love feedback so please give him some as feedback is what most authors crave.

 **Part 8a**

After the impromptu interview at the Daily Planet, Illyana nursed her cup of coffee and her donut on a bus stop bench while ruminating on what to do next. Seeing no complicating factors, she slipped thru time and space to mid afternoon in Las Vegas, where she picked up the keys to her new suite and was suitably impressed. _Top of the line for Lex is top of the line indeed._ Finding no messages waiting upon her, she set her wards and guards, and slept undisturbed for thirteen solid hours.

Upon awaking and finding the bathing room - bathroom was simply an insultingly inadequate term for such a room - stocked with toiletries, she bathed.

A sunken white marble bathtub big enough for you and ten of your closest friends (assuming that their into that kind of thing or are those kind of friends). Illyana rinsed herself three times using the twin cascading waterfalls of water just to experience the different modes the system had - including the jets working with the music. _This thing must single handedly be depleting the local aquifer_ was her bemused thought upon the shower system's flow volume.

The song Alive from Meatloaf was echoing throughout the suite.

 _I'm still alive_

 _Must have been a miracle_

 _It's been a hell of ride_

 _Destination still unknown_

 _It's a fact of life:_

 _If you make one wrong move with the gun to your head_

 _You better walk the line or you'll be left for dead_

 _I'm a runaway train on broken track_

 _I'm a ticker on a bomb, you can't turn back this time_

 _That's right_

 _I got away with it all and I'm still alive_

 _Let the end of the world come tumbling down_

 _I'll be the last man standing on the ground_

 _As long as I got blood rush through my veins_

 _I'm still alive_

 _Lost in the night_

 _Feeling so invisible_

 _Oh, a dead man walking the wire_

 _I have broke the devils net_

 _That's made of fire_

 _And it's a long way down from the top of the world_

 _You better look around or you gonna get burned_

…

…

She had found the soaps and shampoos to be wonderful. _I am so raiding the gift shop before I leave_ was her next thought as she luxuriated under the pounding flow of water.

After bathing, another thought occurred to her as she glanced at the cavernous walk in closets. _I could own a wardrobe again!_ In this reality, she had only one pressing order of business, and afterwards, if all went well, this world could easily become a safehouse universe of sorts. No Scott Summers, no Emma Frost, no blithering interfering in her business...

Unfortunately, the suite had yet to be stocked with food or drink of any sort. _I'm going to need to make a list_ she thought to herself, and returned to when and where she had departed from, plus one second. _Thus is causality served._ Then, urgently wanting food, and having the hunch it would be no bad thing to scout out Oswald Cobblepott's establishment, Illyana made her way to the Iceberg Lounge. On the way there, her cabbie assured her it was a fine and upstanding place, that the food was excellent, and that prices were reasonable. She thanked him for the recommendation, rather doubting the last part, and gave him the last of her ready cash, having already decided to see what the Penguin might offer for certain gold coins.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Rasputin." The young woman on the podium was dressed in a tailored women's tuxedo, and wore a bowler and an earpiece microphone. She greeted Illyana without hesitation or reservation. "Executive or private, ma'am?"

Illyana allowed no part of her surprise and consternation at the familiarity of the greeting to show. "Executive, please."

"Certainly, ma'am. How many in your party?" Another, indefinably older woman, also in a tailored women's tuxedo and bowler joined them, clearly to lead Illyana to her table.

"Only myself, at the moment." Illyana answered. "But I may have some guests joining me - if anyone asks for me...?"

"We'll bring them to you directly, ma'am. This is Finch; she will be your service today."

Finch grinned cheerfully. "Right this way, Ms. Rasputin. Anything I might bring you from the bar while you look the menu over?"

Illyana found herself amused - and curious. "No menu needed, thank you. My usual drink, please - in fact, bring me the bottle. I'll have steak au poivre, medium, heavy on the sauce, and a plain baked potato. Might asparagus be available?"

Finch led the way up a sweeping set of stairs. "Of course, ma'am. Hollandaise?"

Illyana liked the view she was clearly to be afforded. "Yes, please. Oh, and let - " Illyana followed Finch's timeline back a scant five minutes, the chef's name was " - Max know I'd prefer a good bourbon to the usual cognac for the sauce. His judgment on what to use, of course."

"I'll let him know, ma'am." Finch seated her front and center of the second floor gallery, with a commanding view of the lower dining area and the front entrance. The area was currently unoccupied as the Iceberg tended to be much more of a late night place.

Finch returned a minute later with a deeply chilled unfooted cosmopolitan glass mounted in a block of ice, which she presented on a folded white cloth concealing a small bowl for the melt. Accompanying it was a bottle of Stolichnaya Paper vodka, itself in a jacket of ice, in a small bucket. "Max asked me to let you know your meal will be approximately twenty minutes in preparation, ma'am. Unless you object, a complimentary cheese and cracker tray will be brought by - ah, here it is. Thank you, Jaye! Would you like anything else, Ms. Rasputin?"

Illyana produced her cell phone and booted it up, "An ewer of iced water, a bowl of wedged limes, and - three water tumblers, if you would."

* * *

"Contact, Clark. She just brought her cell phone online... at the Iceberg Lounge. Specifically, the executive dining area."

"Could it be a trap?"

"Unlikely. She left you the note saying she would arrange to be in a public area. She's done precisely what she said she would."

"Then I suppose I'll have to meet her. I can't suggest you join us..."

"No. Of all the social places in Gotham I should not be seen at, that would be number one with a bullet. Take Diana with you; she's a bit better at combating magic - no pun intended - than you are." The voice paused. "Oh, and if she asks you to be her guest, accept. I suspect she plays by the old rules concerning the rights and responsibilities of guests and hosts."

* * *

"Ms. Rasputin? Mr. Clark Kent and Ms. Diana Prince, ma'am. "

Illyana rose gracefully and smiled. "Just over four minutes since I brought my cell phone online. Excellent timing. Please, be my guests?"

Clark and Diana looked at each other; from Lois's report, and Batman's hunch, the invitation carried considerably more weight than simply who was paying for the meal. Clark shrugged, Diana nodded, and they both turned to Illyana. "We accept." Diana said. Clark seated her, and then himself, and Illyana poured for them all from the water carafe. "Will Bruce be joining us?" she asked.

Clark shook his head. " I suggested to him that he not be here.' Kent commented. "Too many people would be interested."

Illyana nodded; the chances had been roughly fifty fifty. "I understand. Ms. Prince... retsina?"

Diana smiled. "Thank you, but no. Modern retsina is so - bland."

Illyana smiled. "Fortunately, modern is not on offer. Finch? In the corner, if you would decant, please? Be careful; the amphora is stone."

Finch glanced over to the indicated corner. "Ms. Rasputin...? Oh. At once, ma'am."

Illyana effortlessly commanded the attention of her guests whilst Finch took care of the amphora. "And for you, Mr. Kent...? I would suspect a scotch drinker, but honestly, I have no idea. What would your pleasure be, sir?"

Clark gently gestured in the negative. "I do actually prefer scotch... but not right now, thank you. I have to fly later."

Both women smiled at the double entendre. "Quite. Sweet tea, then...? Excellent. As soon as Finch returns, we'll get some menus for you..."

Clark smiled gently. "The reputation of this place precedes the visit, Ms. Rasputin, as I'm sure you understand. Menus won't be necessary. My order will be simple."

Diana nodded, her smile a bit more amused. "And mine will challenge things - but only mildly."

Finch returned, carrying a stoppered carafe of richly golden wine, and a stemless wineglass with half an inch in the bottom. The wine was pungently resinous, with a scent like wind thru pine trees. This was gracefully offered to Diana. "I hope this is to your liking, ma'am...?"

Diana sniffed, sampled, and smiled. "Oh, that is excellent; it's just like we have at home."

"I'm glad." Finch said as she placed the carafe. and surprised herself by meaning what she'd said. "Mr. Kent? What would you like to drink?"

"Iced sweet tea, please? Just Liptea, or whatever the house has as a well tea - if they have such a thing..."

Finch found herself grinning. It had been a while since she'd felt this easy with a table of guests. "English Breakfast it is, Mr. Kent. I'm guessing you like it brewed strong, and heavy on the sweet?" Clark nodded, and Finch slid back out of the room. She returned only a moment later with another carafe, this one filled with iced tea so dark it was almost black, and a large tumbler with a half an inch at the bottom. "Here you are, Mr. Kent. Does it need anything?

Clark looked startled, and sampled it. His eyebrows rose at the strength and smoothness; it was coldbrewed, and sweetened with honey. "That's just fine, ma'am." He said hastily.

Finch smiled, and turned to Diana. "What would you like to eat, Ms. Prince?"

Diana smiled. "I would like six dolmades, mixed vegetables and cheeses, and a large serving of moussaka, lamb if possible, goat if not, please." Diana asked.

Finch didn't blink. "Of course, ma'am. Potato base acceptable? We only do the eggplant moussaka on the weekends..."

Diana did blink. "That would be my preference, actually."

"Excellent! Now, our moussaka is a mix of lamb, goat, and beef, ma'am; Is that alright?"

Diana nodded. "That would be fine, Ms. Finch."

Finch smiled, and returned her attention to Clark. "Mr. Kent? What would your pleasure be, sir?"

Clark looked up, smiling boyishly. "I'll have steak and eggs, steak rare, eggs sunny side up. Four of them, if you would." He chuckled at the looks his tablemates gave him. "What? I didn't have breakfast."

Finch grinned. "We can sure do that for you, Mr. Kent. Skillet fried potatoes on the side?"

Clark looked delighted. "Oh, yes please!"

Finch nodded. Kent was going to be easy. "Then all I need to know is if you'd like a gravy?"

Clark looked surprised. "Sawmill gravy, but with bacon instead of the sausage, maybe?"

Finch gave him the smile she had kept for her regulars back before she had become Finch. "You got it, hon - oh. I beg your pardon, gentles. I'll just see to the orders."

Diana watched Finch leave, then turned to Clark. "You are a heart attack just waiting to happen, Clark."

"Diana, I have eaten that, or very similar, for breakfast probably once a week at least for over twenty years." Clark replied, admiring the glass and the tea it contained. "I've never had any problems."

Diana smiled impishly. "Ah but in the twenty-first year, when you do..."

Illyana smiled politely as she witnessed the banter, nibbling a cube of manchego before sipping at her vodka. "Ahhh." she swallowed, noted she had recaptured the attention of her guests, and nodded at the entrance that Finch had used. "We may speak freely. If Finch approaches, she will hear our voices but not their content." She set her glass down and leaned back in her chair. "I have the makings of a dilemma, and you have questions, I imagine. Mr. Kent, I want to begin by offering my apologies for the scene with your wife. It was not my intention to involve her in any way. I can only imagine the scenarios you've had to endure in the past. I hope I have not added to them."

Clark nodded acceptance of the apology. "She's a large part of why we're meeting now, Ms. Rasputin. I trust her judgment implicitly, and she feels you need help desperately."

Illyana was vaguely surprised to find herself largely in agreement with the Man of Steel. "She did say she would put in a good word... So. I have twenty seven individuals requiring containment. My only stipulation is that they not be rendered unto Amanda Waller's tender mercies." She selected a cube of cheddar, and a water cracker. "The Joker is a special case, and I will discuss that separately."

Knowing Superman's own history with The Joker, Diana asked the question. "'Why is the Joker special? Besides his history, that is."

Illyana's voice was composed - overly so. "Because the Joker isn't human, and never was, despite wearing a human corpus. I was unaware of its nature until my people could examine it. It's a Spirit of Madness that inhabits human bodies when they are weakened unto death."

"The Joker is a genetically identifiable individual." Diana objected.

Illyana nodded. "Yes, it is. Its modus operandi is to find a human who is dying, and essentially evict the soul thereof if it isn't already leaving. It then rebuilds the body to correct whatever the problems are. However, it has only one template with which to do so - that of the first corpus it inhabited. Thus, every corpus it rebuilds, becomes genetically identical. Mentally, however... the Spirit carries forward every set of memories it has, from each of the corpses it has - revised, shall we say. Frequently, the bodies it finds are experiencing brain death, and therefore the memories are fragmented. This further contributes to The Joker's... eccentricities. Batman's default policy of containment is actually the best possible option, given the limitations of your society and its justice system."

"How did your - people, find this out?" Superman asked.

Illyana took a sip of her vodka. "Limbo is a very plastic place, and it is difficult to die there - at least permanently. My people questioned The Joker until it attempted to abandon its' body and find another, repeatedly, and observed the spirit's actions. It had no choice but to resume tenancy of the body it had attempted to depart, as there are no others that are suitable in all of Limbo."

Superman's voice was flat. "You're having him tortured. Repeatedly."

Illyana set her glass down. "Not in the sense you're thinking of, Superman. Tormented, yes. Tortured, as in the infliction of physical pain and damage, no. There's no point in that; the Joker doesn't experience physical pain in the same way you or I do. But there are stimuli that it finds actively unpleasant, and there is information it possesses that I must have if I am to free myself - and incidentally Edna Mae Smith."

Diana touched Superman's arm. "Clark. Control yourself." She turned her gaze on Illyana. "What torments are you inflicting upon The Joker?"

Illyana selected a cube of Mozzarella and pressed it to a cracker. "Currently it is tied to a cross - with a platform to stand upon - and being forced to watch endless reruns of poor imitations of the classic comedians of the thirties, forties, and fifties, interspersed with so-called 'comedic' remakes of certain classic comedy films."

Despite himself, Superman - once again firmly back in Clark-face - almost choked on his tea. Diana smiled delightedly. "Truly apropos. Well done." She glanced at Clark. "I believe we can let this go. I have little sympathy for that one. I'd have done much worse, in her place.."

Clark reluctantly nodded agreement, and internally Illyana heaved a huge sigh of relief. That had been a fifty fifty moment as well, and the other tree limb of occurrences were not beneficial to her cause. "I have the sequence of events that brought me here from four viewpoints." She said. "I am satisfied I understand the particulars. Joker was the actual motivator; it arranged the others to be dosed with will sapping drugs to ensure he had his circle. Thus, I have no quarrel with the Riddler, Scarecrow, Two Face, or the Mad Hatter. They were ignorant pawns, and incapable of refusing the Joker that night." She sipped again of her vodka. "Is there - or perhaps I should phrase it in the plural, are there one or more secure locations I can return them to? Or must I await Arkham's rebuilding?"

Diana refilled her glass of water; she was saving the wine for her meal. "The European Union has two facilities, one in Germany and one in England. But they are first and foremost prisons, and Waller has obtained American prisoners from both locations before on several occasions. It's not a good fit." She sipped. "For the same reason, Blackgate or any other US prison is out. I believe you're going to have to await rebuilding."

From the doorway, Finch cleared her throat. "Ma'am? Shall we serve?"

Illyana nodded. "Please, Finch. Then I'm afraid I shall have to request the entire space."

Finch didn't flinch; it was actually fairly common with the A-Listers. "We expected it so, ma'am. Seems there's maintenance necessary. We'll be lowering the curtain, if that's acceptable."

"I have no problem with that." Diana commented. Clark merely nodded.

Illyana gestured permission. "Make it so, at your convenience, Finch. Please let Mr. Cobblepott know I shall make it good?"

Finch nodded soberly. "I shall, ma'am. Your meals, folks!" and with that, Finch, Jaye, and another tuxedo-clad young woman deftly served plates and refreshed the drinks before departing. "I'll remain on call, ma'am. Drinks and such." Finch said. "And as well, there's desserts later, I recommend death by chocolate. Another carafe of tea, Mr. Kent?"

Clark smiled and shook his head. "I think I'll be switching to water after I finish this, Finch. That tea is coffee strong. Thank you, though."

Illyana waited for Finch to withdraw before continuing. "The disconcerting thing is, this is the first time I recall being here... but clearly, I'll be returning in the past. Frequently, I suspect. That in turn suggests we should come to a more comfortable relationship for the future. For the record, I don't destroy worlds. Indeed, I try to prevent that from happening. I've seen the results all too often - in endless variations of the same basic themes."

Clark and Diana glanced at each other, and Clark spoke up, even as the curtain fell just inside the balcony like a gently rippling wall of blue velvet. "If we can deal successfully with this problem, and you don't try to take over the world in order to save it from itself... I see no issues with that." Clark noted Illyana's focused expression. "That was a joke, Ms. Rasputin. I don't believe that's something you'd be interested in doing. Or else you'd have already done so, at some point in the far past."

Illyana nodded agreement. "Thank you for saying so, Mr. Kent. To return to the subject of Arkham? I cannot rebuild Arkham personally - if I did, it would be so tainted with Chaos as to be useless for the function it must serve. But a conventional rebuilding, I will underwrite in it's entirety, if a reasonably discreet method of transferring the funds can be hit upon. "She took a bite and chewed, to allow time for her companions to make comment, only to find them waiting for her to continue. "I have access to what are essentially unlimited reserves of bullion and other materials... but I think a mix of commodities would be best. That is why I hoped Mr. Wayne would be joining us; it wouldn't do to devalue something and destabilize things."

"Unlimited access?" Clark asked mildly, and forked up a bite.

"I walk worlds, Mr. Kent." Illyana answered just as mildly. "It isn't hard to find places where what is considered valuable here is - uncared for there."

Clark blinked. "Hm. Well, I'm no one's idea of a world class financier. Likely best if you speak to Bruce about that personally. I'll brief him."

"I believe you have questions for me?" Illyana inquired.

"We'll let him ask those as well."

* * *

It was evening in Gotham, and Selina came down into the Batcave to find precisely what she had expected: Bruce, in simple shorts, seated at workstation one. What she was not expecting was her husband in all but name had eaten, and was apparently waiting for a computer run to finish.

"Selina. I hope you slept well?" He greeted her.

"Not as well as I might have hoped... the wakeup was particularly disappointing." She answered, drinking in the simple sight of Bruce Wayne all but nude, relaxed, and for the moment not deeply involved in something. "After all, if we're going to live in sin, then there ought to be more sinning being done." She pounced him, landing on the arms of his chair and sending it the length of it's track before coming to a sudden stop in the reclined position, she crouched atop him and looking down. "How much longer for that run to finish?"

"Several minutes." Bruce answered in an unconsciously lower register.

"Just enough time for a quickie, then..."

* * *

It did not take long to find Edna Mae Smith in the world of databanks and electronic records, and only a little while longer to locate her last address: an apartment in the Bronx. There, Batman and Catwoman found the wreckage of Edna Mae's Smith's son. Without saying a word, they separated; Batman to deal with the actual murder scene, while Catwoman began a painstaking examination of the rest of the apartment, careful not to disturb anything.

Batman's face gave no indication of the storm of emotions in his heart as he got to work. First order of business was scanning the entire room, including floor and ceiling; this also had the added benefit of recording the crime scene before entering it for later computer examination. The room was antiseptically clean; it could easily be an ultraclean restroom in a hospital suite for the immunologically compromised, except for the late resident - who, for lack of a better term, had been harvested.

He was laying in the bathtub. He had been ritually murdered, elaborate vivisection cuts denoting his circulatory system. His internal organs were apparently missing; the bottom of the tub was visible thru his abdomen where his kidneys had been extracted, the bilaterally symmetrical flaps of flesh pressed out to the sides like access panels, even as the flaps of his abdominal muscles were carefully laid back over his sides in front. The boy's eyes were missing, and his lower jaw hung grotesquely into the ruin of his chest cavity, still attached to the front of his throat, which had been carefully separated to expose his major blood vessels along the line of his airway. To Batman's skilled eye, the entirety of the tongue was missing. It was not lost on him that the corpse appeared to be silently screaming.

From the doorway, Catwoman's voice came, as \steady as the cat she was in so many ways. "No signs of struggle at all, Oracle." She reported to the distant woman. "No indication of forced entry, and the deadbolt and chain are on the door. The only other conventional way in or out is the fire escape. The latch on the window is closed, but that's meaningless; the window fits loosely and the latch is loose enough it could be manipulated a dozen ways at least."

There was a moment of silence, and Catwoman continued. "No, the place is spotless. I'm not kidding, it's like a high end hotel; absolutely everything is spotlessly clean... No dirty dishes. No garbage. No bag. No, the can is spotless. Let me check - no other trash cans. You-know-who would be impressed. Laundry? Hold on... no. Everything is clean and folded on the bed. Washing machine... there isn't one. No dishwasher either."

Batman cut in. "Oracle, I'm sending initial scans of the room. Very briefly, this room is the same as Catwoman is reporting; absolutely spotless. No traces of blood at all, no signs of struggle."

Oracle receipted the data packet and detailed the Batcave computers to the detailed analysis for Batman's later attention. "I've set a flight of bats to scan the fire escape, roof, and alley for bloodstains et cetera. Ready for the body scans, Batman."

Batman grunted acceptance, noted his suit was finished uploading, and finished his scan of the teeth in the upper jaw. "These cuts on the face are interesting. Not a traditional knife, I'm thinking. More like a straight edge, or possibly a surgical blade of that type."

If Oracle was discomfited by Batman's comment, she gave no sign. "I think we should recall the others. Our plates are getting loaded, and a power vacuum with the Russians is going to give the middle tier players ideas if it continues." Whatever Batman was going to say was pre-empted. "Fingerprints and footprints both match, Batman, to the ninety-third percentile on the hands and the ninety sixth on the feet. That was Edna Mae Smith's son, Jeremiah John Smith. Age fourteen." Oracle paused then continued. "We have datapoint correlations from Teen Titan cases. The pattern of wounds match up to several unsolved murders across the West Coast several years ago."

Batman's response was immediate. "Then send Nightwing here, Oracle. Tell him to enter thru the front door, please."

"Copy that."

"No blood." Catwoman observed clinically from the doorway. "Not even clots in the wounds..."

Batman grunted agreement. "Yes, hallmark of the Church of Blood. The organs missing is different, though. The entire tongue is gone. This has to have been post-mortem; the blood spray from all this would have been extensive otherwise. Whoever did this was well experienced, and had excellent tools..."

* * *

"Batman, I'm onsite." Came Nightwing's voice over the comms a few minutes later. "I have Raven and Jinx with me. Entering now." The doors unlocked, and the trio entered quietly, shutting the door behind them. As soon as they looked around the spotless front room, Nightwing nodded grimly. "That Guy."

Batman looked up from his mobile display. " 'That guy' ?"

"That's what we called him." Nightwing answered. His scenes are unmistakable. Let me guess, the whole place is spotlessly clean, isn't it?"

"Yep." Catwoman answered. "Dishes done, but no dishwasher. Laundry folded on the bed, no washer or dryer. No vacuum that I can find, but the carpet is immaculate. No dust, no stains..."

Nightwing gestured widely. "This is why we never caught him on the West Coast, Batman. No evidence, none. No fingerprints, no blood spatters... no water use, either. The floors operating room clean, even if the site was a flop. No dust, no fibers... It would take an eight man professional cleaning crew a full day or more to clean a site like this, and there'd be chemical residues galore. We found nothing, ever. Six sites, over the course of a year and a half. Three more after that that we were pretty sure of, but there was no body, just the scene... then we found the laptop, and the murders ended up being cold cases. Where's the body?"

Batman gestured, and Nightwing stepped into the bathroom. A few moments later, he emerged, Bat-face firmly in place. "He's still evolving. Those cuts are much more elaborate, and the organ removal is new. Raven, Jinx...?"

Batman observed from the doorway as first Raven, then Jinx examined the body. They were both professional in every way, and Batman found himself approving. Clearly, Nightwing had trained Raven, and then she and likely Beast Boy had trained Jinx...

Raven took up the report. "The last one like this we saw was several years ago, in Washington state. I was never able to contact a spirit or soul at one of these sites... but we didn't have Jinx back then."

Batman consciously kept his voice completely neutral and businesslike in tone and inflection. "This is important because she has a different area of focus?"

"In a word, yes, Batman." Jinx answered respectfully. "Raven is an Empath and Spiritualist. She deals in matters touching the mind, the spirit, and the soul. Very ethereal stuff, and I am not at all skilled in those areas, although she is teaching me." Jinx stepped carefully as she walked the perimeter of the apartment, her bare feet seemingly caressing the floor with each step. "I, on the other hand, am an elementalist. Earth was my first, and remains my strongest. I can literally ask the walls and the floor what went on here."

Batman allowed one notch of dubiousness to enter his voice. "Even manufactured materials?"

"Matters not at all to me." she answered. "It all sources from the Earth, and in the case of the floor, is treated like the Earth inasmuch as we all stand on it." She finished pacing the perimeter of the apartment, and came to the approximate center of the space. There, she settled to the floor in a lotus position, and her features stilled as her eyes closed. Nightwing and Raven took up positions on either side of her, keeping watch while Jinx was otherwise occupied. Batman and Catwoman kept their distance and remained wary as well.

Anyone expecting a dramatic demonstration of Power was disappointed. There was a very subtle ripple that traveled thru the walls and came to a point before Jinx. Several moments passed with no sound... and then Jinx opened her eyes and grimaced uncomfortably.

"And what is seen cannot be unseen, and what is known may not be unknown..." she muttered, clearly quoting a text. "Oh Gods, that's going to give me nightmares."

She rose gracefully to her feet. "When we get back to the WatchTower, I'll make an impression recording." She said. "For now..." She proceeded to the sink and turned the hot water on. A moment later, she gestured, and steam billowed, forming the face of a man. He was - utterly nondescript, merely one man among a thousand million others.

"This is what he looks like. He was interrupted. The boy had friends, and they tapped at the window. He immediately departed, taking what he had gathered and leaving the rest behind. The reason the place is so clean is because he conjured a spirit of Earth to clean every surface in the apartment while he worked. I am sorry, Batman. There is no evidence to gather here; it has all been destroyed."

Batman shook his head. "Not everything; the body was left. What did he do with the organs and blood, do you know?"

Jinx's voice and face were of the format of expressionless that only memories of truly hideous things could create. "Yes. He took them with him in a suitcase. If he had had time, he would have eaten what he could of the rest of the remains, taken what he wanted of what was left, and then left the remains to be destroyed with everything else."

Oracle's voice cut in, crisp and formal. Too formal. "Batman - I suggest an immediate regrouping at the Clock Tower. Titans as well. I have data. This is potentially much worse than we thought."

* * *

Raven lowered her arms, and the darkness melted away from her compatriots, leaving them in the Clock Tower. Jinx's attention was immediately drawn to the nondescript packet on the coffee table, even as Raven teleported out to gather the rest of the Titans.

"Bespelled..." Was Jinx's one word statement as she stood studying the envelope. "Oracle? How did you get this?"

"Magik left it for us. Also a pack of Oreo cookies, which I swear was also a message, although how she could know the context is beyond me. Here's the security camera footage..."

Everyone watched. The portal had formed twenty feet in the air, Magik had fallen thru it - the second portal opening at floor level even before she was finished passing thru the first one - her two word greeting: "Peace offerings!" as the envelope and packet of cookies had fallen free of her to land on the coffee table, followed by the sequential closing of the two portals as Magik exited.

"Impressive." was Jinx's assessment. "No discernable effort, no incantations, no gestures even... the second one opening even before the first one was done passing her thru. Damn impressive." Her attention shifted to the envelope. "What happened to the cookies?"

"I have them here. I scanned them, ran them thru the transporter to get an atomic level teardown. They're clean."

"Why haven't you done that to the envelope?" Jinx asked bemusedly.

Nightwing answered that one. "Because something seemed just a touch off about it. We literally haven't touched it."

Batman stood, an ink dark statue as he took in what Oracle's screens were showing. True to form, he had immediately apprehended the nature of the searches and the key repeating element. "Oracle... how long?"

"Bruce, I've had to rework my queries three times to avoid leakers, and some of that is undoubtedly false positives. I'm still collating."

Batman's voice took on an intensity it rarely took outside of Joker cases. "How long?"

Oracle's voice was crisp, professional, an analyst reporting results. "The earliest so far dates from seven weeks after the last one in Washington state. So eight and a half years."

The Bat aura took on a density it never took outside of Joker cases. Silently, The Batman turned away. "I'll be on the roof. Brief the others."

Oracle's voice stopped everyone in their tracks as they moved to follow him. "Let him go! He'll be back when he's calmed down, and he already knows what I'm looking at. You all don't, so listen up!"

Oracle waited a moment for the combined forces of two teams to come to rest. "Alright. The short form of this is, 'That Guy' has almost certainly been operating in Gotham undetected for years." She waited for protests and exclamations to erupt; none did. What she saw was intent focus on everyone's face as they waited for her to unpack her statement.

"What we're looking at here in this set of graphs are abstracted statistical representations of the incidence of abandoned property reports to the GCPD for the last twenty years. The blue line is incidences, undifferentiated. The green line is reports where basic requirements for living were abandoned: clothes, food, and money, any two of the three, or all three."

Oracle paused to sip her tea, and continued, her voice unconsciously becoming grimmer, a feminine version of the Batman's growl. "The yellow line represents reports with crime scene annotations that match the scene description of earlier tonight: meticulously clean sites yielding little or no processible evidence. The red line is unsolved missing person reports that coincide with either green or yellow reports."

The room was dead silent. "I'm still refining my queries and worming the responses for duplications and false positives. There are undoubtedly dropouts in the data, where property was either informally taken in lieu of unpaid debt, or simply stolen. Which means additional situations that fit our criteria, but were never reported. I'm currently pulling missing person reports where there was a known address, but there was never an abandoned property report..."

Gizmo slid over. "Give me your net take, and I'll start performing correlations, Oracle. Let's see if we can't refine things a bit. I assume Batman will give assignments when he returns?"

Oracle nodded. "Yes. I asked everyone to return because we'll likely be reworking the patrols once I start getting some meaningful geographic distribution data."

Nightwing turned his gaze upon the pink elephant in the room: the manila envelope Magik had dropped off. "Alright. In the meantime - Jinx, you said bespelled?"

Raven glanced at the innocuous package, even as Jinx focused her sight upon it. A moment later, a lavender glowing wire diagram of a miniature dragon faded into plain view, before it seemingly shifted for comfort and faded out. Jinx and Raven looked at each other, and Jinx took up the explanation.

"It's a missive spell." she said. "When the package is opened, the messenger lets her know."

Oracle spoke up. "Is she listening in? Batman is asking."

Jinx shook her head. "Not that Raven and I can sense."

Oracle touched her microphone. "Understood." She turned to the room. "Batman says go ahead and discharge it."

Raven nodded, knelt, and opened the envelope. In her mind's eye, she saw the little dragon uncoil, stretch, look around, and then unhurriedly fly thru the wall. Meanwhile, a dozen comic books spilled out onto the coffee table.

Batman comic books.

* * *

"Batman - the package is comic books. About you. Commercially produced, apparently..."

Batman stood on the outdoor service walkway - the roof, in simple parlance - and stared out over his city. Somewhere in it, a serial killer had been working utterly undetected for eight and a half years. The degrees of rage and fear he felt were on a level equal to any The Joker had caused in him, owing in no small part to the sickening certainty that his spurning of magic had allowed the predator to operate so.

"Batman." the voice was low in volume, feminine, and possessed of a very slight accent. Not challenging or adversarial... more - commiserating?

He didn't turn. He had been expecting something of the sort, and if his suspicions were correct, it would be absolutely pointless to attack her: She'd see it happening full seconds before the attack actually happened. "Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina. Or do you prefer Magik?"

Illyana was deeply impressed by the man before her. The quality and quantity of work he had poured into himself was breathtaking. "I have a mild preference for my given name... but it would be highly inappropriate to return the courtesy in this venue. Either will do." She drew closer, seeing the ways open before her. They would speak. Catwoman was on the stair, already aware of her presence. Oracle was receiving notice... "Your associates have opened the envelope I left, which drew my attention. I scryed the room, but you were not present. It wasn't hard to find you. I spoke with two of your associates earlier today; have they bespoke you yet...?"

Thousands of miles above, Booster Gold was on monitor duty, when the sudden alert came in. The portal detector had caught a ping - on the roof of the Clock Tower! Booster had been following the news - It must be an attack. _I got to get the troops there...!_

Illyana saw the timelines suddenly multiplied wildly, as they did when multiple superheroes suddenly went on alert. "I need to speak to you..." She stopped. Everything had changed. It would no longer be a tense discussion - this was going to be a free-for-all. The Titans and the Bats were moving to surround her - and Superman was inbound from Metropolis. Wonder Woman was as well, from Washington DC. Flash and Green Lantern were seconds behind them...

Above and behind Illyana, Raven and Starfire teleported in. Starfire immediately pushed off Raven and gracefully fell fifty feet before blazing an arc across the ebon sky - her progress as clearly visible as that of a rocket fighter with afterburners in full blaze. Above her, cloaked in shadows, Raven hovered silently and frowned. The weight of hostility and aggression was thick enough to be all but visible. Her eyes flared moonlit, and she stretched herself, working to reduce the tension and maintain the tenuous calm.

Below her, horns flowed into existence on Illyana's head, and her tail lashed in frustration as a portal opened beneath her. Whatever she was going to say was lost as Catwoman broke cover. "Magik, wait! We need to talk to you too!" Unhesitatingly Catwoman entered the radius of the portal, committing herself to the ride if Illyana chose to open it. "You're being played, and not by us!"

"I know that. Hold on." And Illyana portalled them thirty feet up and thirty feet out into open air. The portal they now stood on, Catwoman saw, went to an alley somewhere, but was currently supporting their weight. Armor flowed across Illyana's form, and she abruptly was eighteen inches higher as her legs grew an extra joint. "Oh, you can't be serious... Batman, they're going to attack me! Call them off! I only want to talk!"

Batman could feel the weight of the night as well, but his mind, as disciplined as it was, registered it only in passing, and took no part of it at all. The Clock Tower priority alert was sounding. _The panic button has been pressed. Who the devil did that? Illyana hadn't been attacking him..._ His thought tracks folded smoothly back together again. Catwoman was no more a prisoner than he was; Illyana had moved them to get them out from under something. _Likely Superman_ he thought in passing. "Justice League, stand down! This is a parley!"

Most all receiving accepted the stand-down with no small relief, remembering Raven's vision. But as Flash approached Gotham, a sudden impulse swept thru him. "Bats, I can one shot her, Mach Ten. The Clock Tower is shatterproof, right?"

"No, Flash! We agreed we needed to speak to her! We have a truce!"

Oracle was on top of the situation. "He's not stopping! Coming down Broadway!"

Superman moved to intercept, but Illyana knew he would fail; Flash would simply vibrate thru him. "So much for trust **. Pfffffffff...** " And she and Catwoman dropped thru the portal, or perhaps it rose, or both; whatever the case, the portal winked out a full quarter second ahead of Flash.

Wonder Woman looked both amused and flummoxed at the same time as she descended along with Raven.

"I have never before encountered a potential foe who simply says 'Pfffffffff' and vanishes, Batman. Perhaps you could enlighten me with an appropriate protocol...?"

Which only elicited an irritated grunt from Batman.

Oracle's voice was relieved. "They're headed for the 'Berg, Batman: just entered the tunnels. I guess she wants a drink."

"Do we pursue?" Flash's voice was eager.

"NO." That was Superman. "We had a truce, until your bone-headed move, Flash! She's trying to arrange a prisoner transfer! Who hit the panic button?"

Batman frankly looked homicidal just standing there, arms cloaked and God alone knew doing what. But his voice was uncharacteristically mild. "Raven? Are you able to detect mind control once it's passed?"

With those words, the tension level intensified - or tried to. The Titans grouped up in a defensive pattern, with Raven at the center - but she gently separated Jinx and Gizmo, and stepped out. Her eyes were glowing like the full moon, and the shadows on the rampart all around them all deepened perceptibly as she walked. "Depending on the type, Batman. I'm actually best with emotional manipulation. I can report something is attempting to manipulate us all right this minute - and..." Raven smiled triumphantly, and the tension in the night eased down several notches. "Whoever that was, they've ceased their attempt."

Flash was dumbfounded, and horrified. "M-me? Mind controlled? But I was running! No one can get to me when I'm running!"

"Raven? If you please?" Batman's voice was implacable.

Raven's encloaked arms came up, bracketing Flash's head from behind, and Flash's upper body was enshrouded in shadow. "Just think back, Flash... Yes. His pride, and his ambition to be the best... to be the hero. Very subtle, in the moment, but with the speed at which he thinks, what would normally have taken weeks took moments. He was so consumed, he didn't even notice Catwoman except as an obstacle."

Flash looked smaller, as if expecting punishment. "I - I'll go relieve Booster. Get out of the way where I can't do any damage..."

Batman's voice might as well have been a physical thing that slapped the Flash. "The devil you will. You're nearly as much a victim as Magik is now; we'll need you to explain that to her when the time comes. Besides, this was the first real mistake whoever has been playing us all has made in this game."

"Bats, I could've killed her! Them! I - "

Batman's voice was just as steely and just as uncompromising as he delivered absolution. "But you didn't. You instead served notice of what your intention was in time to prevent it. You know as well as any of us what the Clock Tower is made of. You didn't need to confirm what you already knew."

Flash stood there, and his eyes literally blurred as he thought about it. Then his grin split the gloom like dawn. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He quit smiling. "Now we just got to hope Magik is in a listening mood..."

"She's with Catwoman. I imagine they'll talk." Batman turned to more completely face the assembled heroes. "We need to disperse. Thank you all for coming. Oracle, resume patrol assignments, please; we'll rework for tomorrow. Titans, how long can your city go without you being there?"

Cyborg answered. "The Watchtower can keep an eye on things in the short term; now that we have access to the transporters, we can be back there in a couple minutes if we need to be. We're here for the duration."

Batman grunted and turned to go back downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Arkham Asylum**

Dhalpin author's note: Time for another installment of Illyana in the DC universe by LoarGrise (one does somewhat shudder at the concept of Illyana being there as her body count in the Marvel universe is quite high, and the phrase the ends justify the means so describes her many a time).

 **Part 9:**

Illyana/Darkchilde and Catwoman landed in an alley that held one of the entrances into the maze of below ground passages and tunnels that honeycombed all of the older parts of Gotham. Moving quickly, Catwoman picked the lock almost without breaking stride before leading the way into the gloom. Realizing where Catwoman was taking them, Illyana followed without comment.

A Five minutes brisk but unhurried walk brought them to a steel loading dock door. Catwoman delivered the solitary knock expected, and a moment later, the speakeasy-style sliding view port opened to reveal a camera lens. It immediately closed, and the door slid open noiselessly. Beyond the passageway was cleaner and better lit. A monitor mounted to a wall lit, and on it Wren smiled as the door closed behind them. "Welcome, ladies. Come ahead. What are you drinking?"

"Connected" by The Stereo MC's was playing as they entered the de facto speakeasy:

 **Something ain't right**

 **I'm gonna get myself, I'm gonna get myself**

 **I'm gonna get myself connected**

 **I ain't gonna go blind for the light which is reflected**

 **I see thru you, I see thru you**

 **I see thru you, I see thru you**

 **Your dirty tricks, you make me sick (oh yeah)**

 **I see thru you, I see thru you**

 **I'm gonna do it again, I'm gonna do it again**

 **Ah, I'm gonna do it again (I'm gonna do it again)**

 **(I'm gonna do it again)**

 **Gotta do right(I'm gonna do it again)**

 **Cause something ain't right (I'm gonna do it again)**

 **Gotta do right, come on (oh yeah)**

 **If you make sure you're connected**

 **The writing's on the wall**

 **But if your mind's neglected, stumble you might fall**

 **Stumble you might fall, stumble you might fall**

 **Ain't gonna go blind (oh yeah)**

 **I see thru you, I see thru you**

 **I see thru you, I see thru you (oh yeah)**

 **I'm gonna get myself, I'm gonna get myself**

 **I'm gonna get myself connected**

 **I ain't gonna go blind for the light that is reflected**

 **Hear me out**

 **Can ya hear me out, can ya hear me out**

 **Do it again, do it again**

 **Do it again, do it again**

 **I wanna do it again**

 **I wanna do it again**

 **I wanna do it again**

 **You terrified (I wanna do it again)**

 **Ain't gonna go blind, ain't gonna go blind**

 **I wanna do it again**

 **Here we go**

 **If you make sure you're connected**

 **The writing's on the wall**

 **But if your mind's neglected**

 **Stumble you might fall, stumble you might fall**

 **Hear me out, stumble you might fall**

 **Interstate 5, stayin' alive**

 **Won't someone try, open up your eyes**

 **You must be blind if you can't see**

 **The gaping hole called reality (oh yeah)**

 **Wanna do it again**

 **I gonna, gonna do it again**

 **I wanna do it again, come on**

 **I'm gonna do it again**

 **Hear me out, terrified**

 **Something ain't right**

 **Here we go**

 **If you make sure you're connected**

 **The writing's on the wall**

 **But if your mind's neglected**

 **Stumble you might fall...**

Sly the bartender was waiting for them. He grinned and gestured to the bar, where a double shot of vodka and a vodka martini with a twist of fresh ginger were waiting. Illyana flipped him a gold coin, knocked the shot back, and collected the bottle. "Spaciba." Catwoman raised her glass in salute, and the pair made their way to one of the many booths. As Catwoman sat, she was struck by the lack of clientele; she (and Illyana, by power level if nothing else) were the only Rogues present. She sipped thoughtfully.

Once seated, Illyana waved a hand, and the bar seemed to recede just a touch, even as the background noises became remote. The view became ever so slightly wavering, as if being viewed thru a heat distortion. Selina sipped again as Illyana poured herself a second shot, sneered at the unoffending glass once it was empty, and obtained a cut crystal rock glass from somewhere. This she filled perhaps half full, and took in as neatly as the first two. "Ahhh... Better. Such stupidly small glasses they have for drinking here..."

Selina set her glass down and watched with concern as Illyana refilled the rock glass. "So what's your plan now?" she asked softly.

Illyana glanced at her. "We may speak freely; our voices are heard, but the content is not. Likewise we are visible... but we cannot be lip-read." She drained the rock glass. "I am going to drink this bottle. Perhaps another after this. And then - "

"Getting drunk won't solve anything." Selina said, consciously keeping her voice cool and neutral. "I told you that you were being played. Obviously, so were they."

Illyana drank, and refilled. "I hear what you say. And so what? They still think I am the Enemy."

"It was a set up." Selina insisted. "They weren't betraying you. We were all being played."

Illyana slammed her glass down, closed her suddenly blazing eyes, and took a shudderingly deep breath before gazing at Catwoman and speaking, her eyes fading to normal as she spoke. "Do all of you take me for some sort of blithering brain damaged incompetent? I have known _that_ from the start. I have been trying to learn who - and when I finally get your - him, to where I could speak to him... Whoever demonstrates he, she, or it can make the mightiest of this world dance to their tune. So this - we being able to drink as we are - " Illyana slammed another half full glass like it was water " - is about the best possible outcome. Most of the others have one or both of us dead." She refilled her glass to exactly the halfway point again, her movements as precise as a surgeon's. Catwoman looked at the all but empty bottle of 120 proof vodka, and realized that Illyana had drunk the entire thing in less that five minutes. Illyana took note, and pushed the bottle over. "Except that you are not drinking."

Catwoman raised her martini, drank, and found the bottom of the glass. "I prefer to sip my drinks, thank you. I have to pace myself. I can't begin to drink as much as you can."

Illyana was gazing into her empty glass, and her voice was introspectively matter of fact. "It is difficult to drink when dead. I can testify. I have much practice being dead... But whoever is behind this does not want me dead - they want me angry. I - appreciate being able to - vent - like this. It helps."

Catwoman tried to drag the conversation back to the tracks. "So I can talk to him for you. We can arrange a completely safe meeting..."

Illyana set her empty glass down rather more gently. "To what point or purpose, to quote that infuriating pirate king? I am alone. I am always alone. _He_ has no desire to help me - he undoubtedly wants me to 'pay' for Arkham." Her laugh was as bitter as oak gallow. "And the joke is, I am perfectly willing to do so - but not in the way he undoubtedly wants." Illyana emptied the bottle into her glass.

Catwoman's voice was soft and non-challenging. "He said you can follow timelines back. If that's true, then go back to the meeting I attended. See what we saw. Hear what we said. He is _not_ the ogre you seem to think he is, not all the time anyway, anymore than you are a Demon Queen all the time. We all were played. And whoever tried that, they screwed up big time, because now he knows that - and he _hates_ being played. You aren't the enemy anymore, and you're not alone, not unless you want to be. But you have to reach out again."

Illyana stared at her a moment...

 _"God in Heaven." Superman said as he sat in his seat. "She - she killed us. She killed all of us."_

 _Batman's voice was grim business. "That was not us. That was a much younger Justice League, one that had none of our teamwork or tactics: their Cyborg, and then Superman, attempted kill shots, while everyone else simply watched. That said, there is a wealth of intel to gather from this."_

 _"Yeah." Cyborg said. "J'onn, can you load that memory crystal up? We need to tear this apart."_

 _Batman held up a thumb drive. "It will take a few moments for the computers to process the data crystal. In the meantime, I have supplementary material on Magik that should be considered."_

 _Green Arrow snorted. "You have material supplementary to a JCAS Section 12 analysis." He shook his head. "Of course you do. What have you got, Batman...?"_

And…

 _"In other words - the JCAS analysis comes up short." Superman said softly._

 _"Yes." Batman confirmed. "Her 'teleport discs' being sharp on their edges is a concept they discussed at length, and decided to severely downplay, so as not to compete with the character of Wolverine. She also may or may not have the abilities to 'assense' someone's timeline - in essence see everything they have done for as far back as she wishes - and to see potential futures before they play out. Keep this in mind: lying to her about anything said or done is absolutely - '_

And…

 _"See that? That is the point origin of the disc she manifests, the one that takes Diana's arm. Now look at her head. There is no way she can see that point, or even Diana's arm, not with Superman's fist knocking her head back like that. Now run it forward - slow... That flare of light? That's atomic level disintegration in play, folks. Her circles cleave the atoms of the elements that make up the air, that's the source of that white blaze on the edges of the circle. It's atoms rushing in, getting cleaved, and from there you get electrons and positrons, and likely some neutron activity, and God alone knows what kind of exotics. That could be a means of detecting her transits - "_

And…

 _"...zorch, right thru him, hot knife thru butter. If the blade had been there throughout, he'd have been fine, it would have been between them and no way for her to get any leverage. Instead, she turns it off, gets her hand into position, and just nails him. While conjuring the circle that gets Diana. Without line of sight. That what you talking about with the see the future thing, Bruce...?"_

And…

 _" -attacks from range made at her are very likely to be redirected against us. Melee attacks are literally going to be a knife fight - with Magik controlling the vast majority of those knives. We're left with area effect attacks - explosions, gasses, that sort of thing. Batman, Green Arrow, you do those best among us - Raven? "_

 _Raven stood. "I have been in spiritual contact with her. Magik is not here by choice, and all her actions have been informed by this fact. We know what she's been asking: She wants to know the origin of a golden locket - likely the one we all saw - and she wants to know who gave the Joker the ritual that brought her here. If any of us were in her place, we would be asking the same things, if in different ways. Please, we've seen the utter disaster frontal assault might bring. We should talk to her, and see if common ground might be achievable. I believe all she wants to do is leave."_

 _Batman then stood. "Raven is correct; we're getting ahead of ourselves. We've looked at the actual fight, but there are several other things to consider here. For one, who in their right mind would consider willfully starting a fight in the middle of Gotham? I certainly wouldn't sign off on any such thing, particularly given what we've seen tonight. Who did arrange for Magik to be brought here, and why? Also, The first voice we all heard laughing was the Joker - but who is that second voice...?"_

And…

 _Catwoman was standing. "The government is looking at what happened to Arkham, and they are terrified she will do it again. They aren't paying attention to the fact that she didn't kill anyone. I am. I don't care about Arkham - the place was a decrepit pile halfway to being a ruin, and honestly, it may yet turn out to be a blessing in disguise that it's gone. From the start of this, I've been concerned with the missing people, and what she might be doing with them. I still am, but having seen that vision? Whoever that second voice is, it was getting exactly what it wanted. And that makes Magik either a tool or a patsy, or both, and everyone here a potential sacrifice. I'm with Raven and Batman. We have way too many unanswered questions, and she likely has answers. We need to talk to her."_

Illyana did a slow blink. "So the L - they have a means of tracking me. Thank you for letting me know."

Catwoman didn't blink at all. "Consider it lagniappe. They aren't your enemies. You aren't theirs. Don't think for a minute what you did down at Yorgies' escaped notice; it didn't. That was actually what got him thinking there might be something more going on than just another marauding monster. But you have to try again - or at least be open to another attempt."

Illyana waved her hand, and the subtle curtain of distortion faded. Sparrow came over, and Illyana ordered another bottle of her vodka. "...and another of those for the Catwoman." Within moments, they were served, and with the air of someone trying to change the subject, Illyana gestured to Selina's hand as Selina accepted her glass.

"So Selina... I've always been fascinated with your claws. Modular, yes? What are they made of?" Illyana asked.

It was something of a breach of Rogue etiquette to ask about another's gear, but Selina was up for anything that kept Illyana distracted from drinking. "Surgical steel built up to a millimeter and a half thickness at the back. Flat-pack spring loading cued by my hand positioning. Why?"

Illyana was swirling the alcohol in her glass, and seemed preoccupied. "Tch. I imagine you have to replace or resharpen frequently." She set the glass down untasted. "I loved how you'd score glass in the cartoons... May I see them?"

Selina flexed her hand and silently the claws extended gleaming. "The tips are diamond enhanced. Bet they never mentioned that in your cartoons..."

"No, they did not. But that does make sense..." Illyana answered bemusedly. "...very fragile." She touched the tip so lightly Selina might not have known had she not been watching. "Adamantium is much more durable..." Illyana murmured something unintelligible.

Catwoman's claws become ever so slightly heavier. They no longer had the sheen of stainless steel, but instead something perceptibly darker. The lightest clatter on the tabletop betrayed the shaped diamonds falling free. Even as she withdrew her hand with a hiss, she could feel the change spreading up her glove - and in her other glove as well.

Illyana was no longer preoccupied, but instead was grinning wickedly. "I know you have others... but not like those. Be aware, they are now _much_ sharper." She picked up a napkin and dropped it over the still extended claws. As smoothly and easily as a leaf against one of the legendary katanas of yore, the napkin fell thru the Catwoman's fingers in ribbons.

Selina stared. She had not felt a thing. "- twelve molecules wide at the leading edges. Not quite mollywire, but it'll do until Bruce or Lex come up with that."

Selina lifted her hand, conscious that she had just received an upgrade. _All told, perhaps a gram and a half heavier._ "Can they withdraw?"

Illyana sipped, radiating self-satisfaction. "I have not altered the mechanisms at all, merely what they were made of. The springs were not at all the same material, and thus have not been affected. Go ahead." and smoothly, silently, they retracted into their recesses. Catwoman was still oddly conscious of their weight.

She locked eyes with Illyana. "Why?"

Illyana's eyes flared ever so slightly. "Because I have always wanted to, ever since I first saw Logan's claws. I always wanted yours to be as sharp. And now they are."

* * *

Batman sat in his accustomed seat in the main briefing room of the Justice League's Watchtower, attending the emergency meeting of the Justice League, and wondered as to what formulation of antacids and analgesics Lex used at his emergency meetings - and whether it might be something he'd be willing to take. _It likely is - Lex doesn't play games with his own health..._ Ordinarily, he exercised his prerogative to avoid attending in person - but this was an instance of mind control. No corner was cut when that was the subject.

In the Batcave, and in the Clock Tower, and in other places as well, Oracle's facial recognition program was running. Gotham had over ten thousand traffic control cameras, and the facial recognition program had full access. It was going to be tedious working through all the false positives...

He hated magic, in particular he hated mind controlling magic, and it appeared the entire core League, not just the Flash, had been subjected to it. If it hadn't been for the Titans, it might well have passed without notice.

"- and so, in summary, I endorse wholeheartedly Raven's field determination. Flash was the victim of an emotional manipulation that actually played upon his supernal speed of thought; everyone else was subjected to a manipulation that slowed rational thought and enhanced feelings of aggression and protectiveness.- likely including Ms. Rasputin. The source of these manipulations is unknown at this time." J'Onn surveyed the virtual group. "Questions?"

Mercifully, from Batman's standpoint, there were none, at least directed to the Martian Manhunter. That allowed him to ask his question to Booster Gold, the current Watchkeeper. "What is the status of the emergency calls?"

Booster Gold shook his head, his self confidence restored by the endorsement his part in the incident had received. No mention of the lunch meeting or the proposed agreement had made it to any of the League - except Wonder Woman, who had not checked her inbox and thus had not been in a position where she might have been able to correct Superman's inexplicable omission. "No one's picking up their phones. Fate at least put a status in; all the others are radio silent. The only magicians we have are these three." He gestured to the Titans, who were also seated in the room.

The grouplink reflexively came up as Raven, Jinx, and Terra found themselves the subject of the concerted gazes of the entire core Justice League. _Talk about being put on the spot!_ flashed across the link, followed instantly by Beast Boy's laughingly irreverent and effective mental lead to do as uncountable numbers of public speakers had done: imagine the audience naked. Beast Boy was astoundingly good at it, due to the nature of his abilities. A moment of ribald opinions and comparisons followed...

Of course, their link, following the previous paths from the shared vision... now included the Justice League. The flashing instant of earthy merriment with mixed individual impressions of admiration, respect, and lust, was followed by an instant of aghast embarrassment as the Titans realized the link was two way. The room fell dead silent.

And Wonder Woman broke the silence with a shout of laughter. "That's why you're so tight knit! And you all share him? How do you do it?"

Starfire answered with perfect equanimity. "He's on a schedule. He gets Sundays off to rest, but he never wants -"

Even Batman had the faint quirk that indicated amusement as he stood. "J'onn - meeting concluded?"

The Martian Manhunter nodded. "Yes. Thank you for your attention in this matter."

* * *

Mercy delivered the news with her trademarked calm, even though she understood the import of the news she was reporting. "Lex. The account you wanted started - it already exists. She's Number Six."

Lex raised an eyebrow, but otherwise received the information with his customary sang froid. "I had always hypothesized Number Six might be a time traveler, given the depth and complexity of the investment stratagems. Gratifying to be proven correct. Thank you, Mercy. Carry on."

Mercy held her ground. "According to the account ratings, Number Six is not considered - stable. Are you sure you want to send those three to work for her? They don't match her employee profile."

Lex was frankly astonished. "What? Let me see that." The notes didn't support the ratings numbers at all... "That's an error; there's nothing to support the ratings. No documentation, no reference footnotes... I don't accept this. You've seen her, Mercy; she's very stable, as long as you don't cross her triggers..." He flipped to the self-assessment. "There are no contravening data anywhere in this. Any sign it's been sanitized?"

Mercy shook her head; it had been the first thing she'd thought of. "Data corruption, possibly, Lex. I had to go all the way to the magnetic tapes. I'm bringing this to you because it isn't just her humor index that is abnormal, according to the ratings; it's practically everything. Considering who these three worked for, their idea of what is funny might well 'cross her triggers'."

Lex smiled sourly. "Then they'll earn Darwin Awards, now won't they? It won't come to that, Mercy; none of them are waiting on the Clown. I very much doubt their sense if humor matches his."

Mercy stuck to her guns. "Sir, if I might be so bold; the policies on hiring for these positions are written the way they are so that both the customer, and our referrals have a good chance of surviving to collect their pay."

With anyone else, Lex would be getting irritated by now; but this was why Mercy had lasted as long as she had. "I would say that policy remains intact in this case. Mercy, you HAVE been following the reporting, have you not? Did you notice one glaring point about her recent activities?"

"Let's see... creates dimensional portals to some form of the Christian Hell, employs demons, burns buildings to dust. Holds hostages. Employs torture. Have I left anything out?"

"No fatalities. Not one. Oh, and she's currently holding almost a third of our B list. As well, that is. She's not insane, and she has plans. I want her for the Rogues."

Mercy's sense of humor was as dry as an English butler's. "Of course she isn't insane, sir. None of our clients are insane. Just misjudged by society."

Lex's look was minatory. "We are not in a client's meeting, Mercy. Now. How many potential hires do you have for her?" He made to return to his work, then glanced up. "Counting the three specified."

Mercy knew she had scored, even as she returned to the role of dutiful assistant. "Seventeen. Is starting tomorrow at 8 PM her local time acceptable? Or otherwise she could interview everyone at once..."

Lex shook his head briskly. "Not all at once, I think. Give them all the standard one week retainer, and I will leave word for her. She can schedule interviews at her convenience."

"Yes, sir. Information on all of them being downloaded to your dedicated server for your perusal."

"Good. Leave word at her suite; I'll speak with her in the morning."

* * *

Illyana gazed at Lex over the remnants of another excellent breakfast, trying to judge the potential consequences of having a fully vested membership with Intergang. It offered a number of advantages to the average super villain, most of which didn't interest her in the least... but gave the account holder hiring privileges. She really had not intended to take on hirelings - but as she thought about it, the idea appealed to her.

Lex poured her some more tea, refreshed his coffee, and shifted gears into what Illyana recognized as his business mode. He indicated the flash drive on the table between them. "Complete employment files on all the prospects I have compiled for you, if you want them - but I thought I'd give you the thumbnails on the three you indicated interest in?"

Illyana sipped her tea appreciatively. "Please." she murmured.

A picture came up on the widescreen hanging on the wall, showing a tall, deeply tanned man who had likely once been ruggedly handsome, but was now simply weathered - and on the wrong side of forty. "Michael 'Mack the Knife' Donaldsen" Lex said. "Carries a ten rating. He is a veteran, highly rated by all his former employers. He is currently at loose ends, and has made himself available for day hire, job hire, and open hire. His last employer was the Joker, until Jack was taken back to Arkham. He will be at the Iceberg Lounge tonight from nine PM local until closing; he believes he is to be interviewed. Coincidentally, Penguin is the former employer of your second person of interest - a job hire which has been satisfactorily completed. A small token of appreciation would likely get a somewhat more complete performance review, of course."

Illyana nodded with equanimity. "Of course. His name?"

A second picture came up, this one of a shorter, somewhat chubby man, also deeply tanned. "Johnathan 'Scooter' Dunbley, also a ten rating. Former UXO specialist in the Army. He is an explosives expert, and very much a specialist in - mmm... escapes, for lack of a better term. Hence his nickname. Demolitions, rigged collapses, flow diversions... that sort of thing. Did some work in Hollywood; had a falling out with a prominent director over politics, and was promptly blacklisted. He was then arrested, tried, and convicted of attempted murder; he supposedly wired the director's trailer to explode. He has always maintained his innocence in that matter; it is a known trigger of his."

"I'll be sure to tread lightly in that matter, then. And the third?"

The third picture was of a rail thin man of slight build, also deeply tanned, and with facial scarring. "Robert 'Skeeter Bob' Smith. A career wheelman, reliability rating eight only for the number of employers he has had, many of whom did not want to see him go. First arrest at age sixteen, for speeding and evading arrest. Enlisted in the Army; served twelve years, decorated twice for heroism. Got out, attempted a career in NASCAR; swept up in an FBI sting operation for bootlegging, refused to cooperate, was then charged using the RICO Act, and convicted. Served three years of seven, and was a model prisoner; escaped in 2006, and has been wanted ever since. Has worked for quite a number of Intergang clients, always on short term arrangements, as he prefers to be mobile. Notably, he contracted Intergang to compromise his identifying data; if he is ever detained, his prints, pictures, and other identifiers won't match each other - or him. Five weeks ago his car was destroyed by explosives; he has not worked since. He is now without funds, and is seeking work in order to rebuild his car. From the reports, that is highly questionable; however, my current assessment is that he will do nearly anything to accomplish that goal..."

* * *

While Illyana stepped into Lex's office in Metropolis, Selina was looking at her practice gloves. _Am I really doing this?_ she wondered as she clipped in the set of claws Illyana had transformed in the night. Visually, there was no mistaking them; instead of the matte-mirror grey of steel, these were a much darker shade, somewhere between polished lead and wrought iron. They were also perceptibly heavier than her routine prowling claws, almost a quarter gram each. Not enough to be a real issue, but more of a silently tactile warning: these claws were absolutely for, in Illyana's words, 'tearing things up in real time.'

Selina glanced at the Zogger system before calling up the parameter settings on the computer. Zogger was a combat instruction system intended to train the Bat-Clan in close quarters melee combat, with a heavy emphasis on takedowns, submission holds (and how to break same) and knockouts. In short, how to take out perps without being taken out. It was a programmable space in the middle of it's own cavern; in it's default setting, it was a roughly circular area the size of a boxing ring delineated by eight humanoid columns, but when combined with appropriate scenery and props, a wide variety of combat environments could be simulated, from simple rooms to expansive areas like alleys and warehouse floors.

In their default posings, or when the Zogger system was offline, each of the columns was six feet tall and covered in a clay colored leather like surface that approximated the texture of hard muscle. They were posed precisely like boxing dummies: impassive expressions, legs together, and arms tight to the chest in the classic defensive position, thereby giving them their columnar appearance.

Appearances were extremely deceiving. Each column was free moving within the area delineated by their inductive power grid, could change height in either direction from default by up to a foot, could appear to be either male or female, and could alter facial expressions in real time. They were fully articulated, down to individual fingers. They could manifest weaponry, from melee weapons to firearms - the latter being real weapons loaded with beanbag or foamed rubber bullets. And they could work together for multiple attacker scenarios. There were eight columns because that was the most that could legitimately attack one individual at the same time. At higher skill levels, they would mimic specific Rogues, or even known Heroes. And at the highest levels, all pretense of humanity would be abandoned, and they would act as they were: combat robots, with all manner of extra limbs and attacks, and little limitation upon movement ranges.

Ordinarily, she didn't use the Zogger system; it was far to ::ahem:: _cape adjacent._ Taking out perps? That wasn't her style at all. In the first place, she had a hard policy about not being engaged: people in general didn't even _see_ her unless she wanted to be seen, and they a _bsolutely_ did not touch her. Batman had been a notable exception to this policy, an exception that had been enabled by her confidence in her fighting style: if she was fighting, it was to disable her opponent(s) so she could leave. Zogger was antithetical to that... and in any case, sparring with Bruce in person was so-ooo much more fun...

But when sparring with Bruce, she never used her claws - never went absolutely all-out. So this was a test - of the new claws, of herself, and of the Zogger system. So she set Zogger to scale up in skill level every time she scored a disabler, set the session timer to fifteen minutes or first pin held on her for more than one minute, and stepped into the area delineated by the eight mobile columns.

The first few levels were ridiculously easy, and Selina used them to warm up while keeping Zogger scoreless. Then Zogger scored it's first touch, and Selina began stretching herself. Interestingly, Zogger adapted itself to her fighting style as she did so, launching more grabs and trips among its attacks, and kept her moving.

Then Zogger got it's first full-force hit in, and Selina grinned as her fingertips flexed and then spread wide. Her claws extended and locked out. And as Zogger launched it's next series of attacks, Catwoman went full offense, a knife hand to the 'elbow' of a column's arm followed by a graceful flip over the shoulder of her victim. In the past, this usually resulted in an arm bending in an utterly inappropriate direction thanks to the impromptu tendon releases, usually accompanied by a scream of utter agony and the prompt retreat of whomever was foolish enough to deserve being treated so.

Selina found herself holding the forearm by the wrist as she landed. So she kneecapped the same opponent in the one leg with the sparking forearm while attempting a hamstringing maneuver on the other leg. She felt a brief tug on her claws, about what she'd expect to feel... and the leg gushed hydraulic and pneumatics both in the immediate presence of the severed power cables running up the center of the leg drawing from the inductive floor. The leg went up like a roman candle, and Zogger shifted up a full paradigm level in an attempt to maintain the skill level in the face of the loss of one of its units.

Every cellphone in the Bat-Clan received high-priority alerts referring to a localized fire condition in the Batcave. Thirty seven seconds later a second set of alerts went out, followed by a third twelve seconds after that. Then came multiple system alert notices: Zogger had taken catastrophic damage. Zogger was on fire, and was offline. Multiple power system breakers had closed to isolate other systems, and backup power systems were coming online. Immediate onsite system assistance was required...

When Bruce got there, nine eternal minutes later, it was all over. The fires were out, and the particulate precipitators were clearing the smoke handily. Bruce was speechless as he surveyed the carnage: three of the Zogger subunits were simply destroyed by fire, and two more had been functionally dismembered at the knees and elbows. Another had been effectively beheaded...

When Bruce came up, Selina was seated at the kitchen table and sipping a herbal no-caffeine tea - she hadn't slept yet - and enjoying a scone. She offered him the other cup. "Morning, Bruce. I, uhm - kind of broke Zogger. Does this mean I won?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Arkham Asylum**

 **LordGrise notes:** And the hits keep coming. This chapter has taken far beyond what I thought it would take to write, ladies and gentlemen; I started a new job in there, with all the attendant stress that causes... and I have lost a very dear friend, one who will sorely be missed by me and some few others.

His name was Nick Lorance; He posted on Fanfiction on the handle Machievelli. He was in his mid sixties; he lived in Las Vegas, and it was he, ten years ago, who inspired me to start writing fanfiction again after twenty years plus of silence on my part. He was a mentor, a friend, a copy editor, a muse when needed... and I like to hope I was the same for him. Certainly I tried. We worked together on a number of stories.

January seventh of this year he suffered either a stroke or a catastrophic seizure; he had been dealing with a wide variety of neuro issues that had pretty much shut down his writing since the middle of November of 2017. He was extremely low income, so much so that he routinely sold plasma just to make the rent. No family, and needless to say, no insurance... and so he was not able to get the medical care he needed before crisis came.

He was cared for at University Medical Center in Las Vegas for a period of time I'm not certain of. They then transferred him to Harmon Rehab Hospital, also in Las Vegas, who 'cared' for him for about another two weeks... and then I don't know what happened to him, as for several days Harmon Hospital literally wouldn't take my phone calls. Eventually I got thru... and after the better part of a day of begging, pleading, and at the end threatening to report the hospital for mistreatment based on what I _did_ know, I was told that he was no longer present in the hospital, and that he had not been transferred.

Since Nick had been barely able to stand with assistance, had not been able to walk, and had taken profound brain damage, such that he was officially incompetent, and had a personally observed short term memory of less than fifteen seconds, I sincerely hope that that means he died in his bed in his sleep. As opposed to being evicted from the hospital in February, since he didn't have any medical insurance and thus no way to pay the bill... in which case he likely died of exposure in an alley, since his apartment had been cleared in the meantime. I'll never know, and it preys upon me when I think about it. I know Nick would want me to continue writing, and so I try not to think about his end to much. Which is hard, because practically every fragment of my writing I have on my computer has his fingerprints on it in one way or another.

One thing I do know, and that is if ever comes the day I have the financial or political wherewithal, I will learn what happened to him, and I will see that any whom I find did mistreat him are exposed and punished for whatever they did or did not do. So witness you Powers Above, and you Thrones Below. Give me what I need, and I will do so, or die trying.

On with the show. This one's for you, Nick.

 **Part 10:**

"Good evening, Gentlemen." Raven smiled at the three men who had presented themselves to her. They were all garbed in inexpensive suits that fit decently - Intergang had certain standards for men of their ratings - and presented the image of seasoned, mature men one would expect. Raven approved of what she saw. "Your party is this way."

"Uhm - thank you - I guess we was expected...?" Was Scooter's unthinking reaction.

Raven turned a clipboard to show pictures of them. "You might say that. This way, please..." then she paused, and gestured at Scooter's small valise. "Sir, the house would request you leave that in the cloakroom.' Raven smiled.

Scooter objected genially. "Hey, hey, how am I to demonstrate without my goods? Most all this is just clay. I only got two flashbangs and a gasser on me... well okay, these two bricks are the real thing, but look, no detonators in 'em..." He patted his breast pocket. "I keep those here." Raven didn't waver, and continued to gesture to the counter. "Raven, I'm a pro, you know me. Have I ever - okay, don't answer that. I still say that wasn't my fault..."

Raven cocked her head. "I was not even going to mention that incident. Seriously, Mr. Donbley, do you think we would use this location as a venue for your skills? We have a demonstration space for that - elsewhere."

Scooter looked embarrassed. "I know, Raven. I figured that was where we were going...?"

Raven shook her head. "Not to the best of my understanding."

Scooter passed the bag over. "I keep the handhelds, okay? They're safer with me."

Raven pursed her lips, but she knew better than to argue with the man - he really was as good as they said." As you say."

Raven lead them thru the lounge up into the private rooms. Illyana was sitting there, and held out her hand, smiling. Raven sighed and handed her a ten dollar bill.

Illyana folded it once, and dropped it back on Raven's tray . "Please order something to drink, gentlemen. What is the phrase? On my tab?" Raven nodded in appreciation as she noted the ten had become a hundred. Many of the A and B List members of the club were truly miserly in their tipping, as they relied upon their reputations to get what they wanted. Illyana was anything but miserly, and the staff appreciated that fact - and it reflected in the quality of the service.

The three looked at each other, before ordering sodas. Raven accepted the orders without comment. The three men then sat quietly, not asking questions or really doing much of anything besides demonstrating they could be good henches, disciplined and non-disruptive.

Illyana lifted her glass. "Another, if you please." Raven left, vaguely proud of the three for not falling for the old trick of accepting alcohol. Of course, two of the three held reliability ratings of ten...

Illyana waited a moment for questions before realizing she was going to have to start things rolling. "My," she said, looking at Scooter. "Someone who handles explosives, but doesn't drink? Nothing at all like home." As she spoke, she peered down the man's timeline... and found it, not blocked, but somehow massively enhanced. She could see dozens of potential pasts - but she couldn't tell which one was the actual reality.

Scooter shifted uncomfortably. The entire rhythm of this interview seemed - off. "Uhm - job interview, ma'am. Not yet time to party."

"Ah. Quite." Illyana sipped, covering her consternation as she quickly scanned the other two men, and found them likewise affected. "You were all asked to attend because of who you worked for recently." She raised a hand to forestall any objections. "I wish some information, hopefully not at all proprietary. In return for it, you will tell me what your weekly salary was, and I will pay you what you made in a month."

Mack, Illyana realized, was not looking at her so much as behind her. His eyes, she realized, had the veriest suggestion of shading to the iris - in three bands of progressively more intense blue. To anyone not conversant, it might not even be noticeable, much less worthy of notice... but Illyana knew instantly that this man had the Sight, legacy of a long ago dalliance between an ancestor of his and a Sidhe. She continued without pause, throttling her growing frustration. First their pasts magically obscured, and now one of the men had the Sight - and the Gods alone knew what he was learning about her! "In gold if you wish. If you refuse to tell me, you will receive a week's pay merely for attending."

Mack snorted and shook his head. "Sure. What do you want to know, ma'am?"

Illyana sipped again, the picture of composure, even as she tried to get any impression of what this man might be Seeing. "A locket, and a spell. Someone supplied both to the Joker. I wish to know who." She needed to get the man focused on his situation, not her. "And to make it perfectly clear before you answer, if I later discover that anyone here lied to me, I will be... upset."

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were a nearly fatal mistake. Damn the local distortion of the timelines! At her words, all three men became much less relaxed. Skeeter Bob and Scooter eased away from Mack, and Skeeter Bob glanced at the door. Scooter slipped a hand into his coat pocket. Only Mack did not move... but Illyana was not in the least distracted from who the most competent in the room was. "Hah. I knew that shit would be trouble." Mack said.

Instinctively, Illyana demonstrated Power. A portal blossomed into being, depositing a flashbang into her hand. Mack's gut tightened at the display. _Oh Shit..._ Illyana smiled slightly. "Please, do not become aggressive without cause..."

Scooter jumped. "What the hell - Ma'am, _please_ be careful with that. The pin is not crimped much, okay?" He flinched as Illyana dropped the grenade to the center of the table. "I - I'll just let you hang onto it, okay? Misunderstandings are bad..."

She smiled as the timelines moving forward smoothed a bit. "We'll just leave it there then, shall we?"

When Mack spoke, his voice was heavy with disgust. "Scooter... Jesus man, you gonna screw this one up too?"

Scooter protested even as he telegraphed that he had one in his other coat pocket as well. "Aw, c'mon, Mack - I din't drop it, she took it! Somehow..."

Illyana offered a more conciliatory comment, opening further potentialities. "'Perhaps I should have added that in the event of an honest inability to answer, such as the items I am tracking being provided anonymously, I will be understanding. If you don't know, then you don't know. It's deliberate falsehood that I will not abide."

There came a discreet knock at the door, drawing everyone's attention. "Room service?"

Illyana noted with amusement how the three men instinctively normalized their body language at the prospect of someone not involved entering the room. "'Come in."

A sultry young woman with crimson hair in a ponytail entered, bearing a tray with several drinks. "Drink order, ma'am. One ginger ale, one seltzer with lime, one coke, one vodka from your personal stores. Will there be anything else?"

Illyana raised an eyebrow to the men, who all gestured politely in the negative. Wren bowed and departed, leaving the tray. Mack spoke up - in German. "So - I had the locket. Drop box delivery to me, day job rate. Only reason I know anything is, the Clown opened the box in front of me. Even gave me the box back." As he spoke, he tapped an ear, and looked at the tray.

Illyana looked intrigued, and glanced at the tray. "What kind of box?" She enquired in German. Then she spoke in English. "I asked you not to listen in, Mr. Cobblepott..." She flipped the tray into the air, and it vanished into another portal that promptly winked out.

Mack continued in German. "Wren doesn't speak German, that I know of, anyway. It's handy to have a couple extra languages. Scooter and Skeeter Bob both know German."

Bob muttered "Served there long enough..."

"Ser Gutt." Illyana replied. "I as well."

Mack nodded. "I figured."

Illyana noted how the other two men were more at ease, seeing Mack cooperating. Mack, on the other hand, was putting things together, she was certain... and he didn't like what he was getting. She returned to English. "So you saw the locket. What kind of box did it come in?"

Mack looked outwardly composed, even as internally he squirmed. Intergang frowned - hard - upon its' members giving up information about a delivery. But Intergang was also supremely practical, and if this was who he thought it was, the power imbalance would go a long way towards making things understandable. "Looked kind of like a cigar box - that sort of size and weight. Unmarked, sealed with brownish wax with a mark in it. Odd wood, though. I still have it - using it as a humidor."

Illyana looked amused. "I see. Would you trade it to me?"

Mack looked nonplussed. "Uhm - it's back in my rooms... But if it gets me a month's pay, it's yours, ma'am."

She held out a hand, and a portal opened before moving upwards. An ivory box stood in her hand, about the size of a deck of cards "I cannot merely accept it from you; something must be traded. So this box - a Shin Dynasty tea box - is yours in trade. I believe it is worth more than you make in several years. Along with the pay I previously offered."

There is the loyalty you earn, then there is the loyalty you buy. Rather amusing that so many villains and even heroes tend to forget that.

Mack pulled out a handkerchief and accepted it carefully. "O-kay... thank you. I'll need an hour or so to go get the box and bring it back. I'll leave this here, of course...?"

Illyana tsked and opened another portal, and pulled out the box Mack mentioned. "No need for that, Mr. Donaldsen...ah. The seal," She tapped the front of the box. "Who broke it? And who removed it?" She opened it and removed half a dozen cigars, drawing one under her nose. Memories of Logan danced in her forebrain a moment as she inhaled the scent of finely crafted tobacco. "Cubans...? no. Dominican puros. Am I correct?"

"Uhm - yes ma'am, you are. I can't afford good Cubans too often, and the cheap ones aren't worth anything." Mack answered. "Joker broke the seal. He giggled when he took the locket out, like he does when bad shit gonna happen. As for who removed the pieces of the seal afterwards, I did, after I got the box back to my rooms." Inside, Mack was sweating, even as rage and frustration bloomed in his heart. _Shit. Shit... After this, I'm never crewin' for the Clown again. I'll fuckin' go punch a cop or something first._

Illyana nodded, please with the lack of evasions. "Ah. What did you do with the remains?"

"Likely still in my trash, if it matters, ma'am. Magic shit, I'm guessing?"

"Yes." Illyana gazed at Mack a moment, then opened another portal. Bits of off-maroon dried wax pattered onto the table. In Mack's vision, flames danced on the wall, and a silhouette winked at him.

Mack went pale. "He - he said he was going to call someone. I - he called you, didn't he." Skeeter Bob and Scooter looked sharply at Mack, and both stood, not even trying to conceal their actions. Scooter held two grenades, and Skeeter Bob had a .45 in one hand and a set of car keys in the other.

Illyana seemingly ignored all three of them as she dipped her finger in her glass, and made a circle around the fragments of wax. "As you were..." She murmured, and the bits of wax jumped back into a whole seal. "What? Yes. He called me - quite rudely. I'm not happy about that. Is that what it looked like when you saw it?"

Mack swallowed, knowing just how hopelessly the three of them were outmatched. _If I can get her attention, they might just get out the door - but then what?_ He wouldn't last three seconds, he was certain. "No. It was more - glistening. And there was a symbol that's not there." He swallowed again, standing and easing his hands, preparatory to dropping his knives from his arm sheathes. "Look, I'm - we're just the damned - I beg your pardon. We're just day labor, okay? We have nothing to do with whatever."

Illyana's voice was introspective, and she carefully did not look up until she was certain her eyes were fully human. "I'm very aware of that, Mr. Donaldsen. The glistening was the magic used to form it. There was a symbol not now there?" Illyana focused her will and reached out as if to touch Mack's forehead. "Think of the symbol." _Gently, gently... let it come forth, don't force it..._

Scooter took advantage to ease towards the door, mentally figuring where to drop his shots. _Smoker here, flashbang under the desk, cup the blast towards the bitch - no, Mack'll eat it too even if he can get the desk over..._

Illyana's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I did not dismiss you, sir. I am not harming your associate, I am merely magically accessing the memory of the seal as it was whole. And if the memory were accidentally erased, I doubt he would mind."

Fear and anger swirled in Mack's instant answer. "I damned sure would mind. Seen those black suited bastards do just that once. I'm not down for that."

Illyana attempted to reassure, sensing the moment was close to lost. "I will not remove it intentionally. That could be harmful, and I would have to recompense you for doing so."

Mack's voice was unyielding, and somehow reminded Illyana of Logan. "My memories are a part of me, and I'm not selling. Not my memories, and not my soul, either. Give your word you're not gonna hurt or kill us. Or we make some noise. Then you answer to Penguin - and just maybe the Bat."

The Penguin concerned Illyana not at all... but Mack's words rang unutterably of Truth; what would inevitably come after that... Illyana accepted the warning with good grace. "I give my word I will not intentionally harm any of you unless you first offer me reasoned, intentional harm." She smiled coldly at Mack. "Well played, Mr. Donaldsen. I wonder just what you've seen with those eyes of yours."

Scooter spoke up. "What the fuck - is going on, Mack?"

Mack was pale again, but his voice was steadier. "I - I can see you, there. On the wall. In my mind. Your shadow - You want to introduce yourself, ma'am?"

Illyana's voice was amused even as she admired the man's ability to process. "By what name, sir? I have so many titles it is not even remotely funny. You may call me Illyana. It was what I was born with, after all."

Mack didn't let it go. "You look human. But your shadow has horns and a tail."

Skeeter Bob glanced at Mack. _What the hell...?._ "Mack...?"

Mack was on diamond stylus point, going one hundred percent with his gut. "Stand down, gents, but stay frosty. This Lady makes Deals. We don't try anything stupid, she doesn't either. Am I right, Ms. Illyana?"

Illyana addressed all three of them. "My shadow is what I may become in times, not what I am. If you wish the name of that shadow, it is Darkchylde. I am the however reluctant ruler of a - a dimensional space called Limbo. And as for Deals, I must honor my debts, both good and otherwise . Don't do me wrong, and I won't either."

"So we don't play you foul, you return the courtesy, is it?" Skeeter Bob offered hesitantly as he holstered his pistol.

Illyana nodded. "Exactly. And I am not one to collect souls - I leave that to other Powers. If I must deal harshly, I take flesh and blood for however long is needed. As I have done with the Joker."

Scooter no longer looked nervous - he looked intrigued, as he pocketed his weapons. "So you're what he called down on Arkham."

"Yes."

Mack looked relaxed as he sipped his ginger ale and sat back. "Okay..., So I told you what I know. You owe me a month's pay."

Illyana put her hand flat on the table, then lifted it, revealing a stack of gold coins, then another. 'For those memories I peeked at, you get two months, Mr. Donaldsen. I trust Double Eagles are acceptable?"

Mack whistled. "Those will do nicely, ma'am - but that's a considerable overpayment."

Illyana looked amused. "I pay by weight of metal, Mr. Donaldsen. If you can find someone to buy these coins at a higher price, that is between you and the purchaser."

Mack smiled broadly. "My kind of employer at last. Bob. Spill, man. We play it straight, it's all gonna come out fine."

Skeeter Bob grimaced, not really understanding the importance of the coins, and spoke up. "Okay, so same as Mack, I picked up a package, took it out to Arkham. Looked kind of like an oversized cigar sheath. You know, the ones that hold two cigars?"

Illyana was suddenly intent. "And the case? It was left there?"

Bob nodded nervously. "Yeah. Same kind of seal as what you just made. I didn't stick around. Joker fucking shot me last time he saw me, I didn't want him getting ideas."

Illyana nodded as she watched Skeeter tearing out of Arkham's parking lots. "Now, for both of you: you should not have been able to merely walk in. Did someone escort you?"

Bob nodded. "Yeah, the guard on duty. I didn't ask his name, and he didn't say." Bob added diffidently. "That's standard on courier runs..."

Illyana leaned forward. "'Then may I see your memory of him?"

Bob swallowed the last of his soda and stood. "Uh - a favor for a favor, right?"

Illyana blinked. The future timelines had just taken a very unanticipated direction... "As long as nothing was done to hide that memory I will merely look. As for what you gain..." she waved at the coins still sitting in front of Mack. "And that again if I must remove it in order to see it."

Bob looked at Mack. "Uhm - Mack? Is that enough to rebuild Betsy?"

Mack sighed. "No amount of money gonna do that, Skeeter. Betsy's gone. I know you got the wreckage in storage, but - she was blown to bits, man! You need to let her go..."

Bob turned and looked Illyana in the eye, a madman's hope burning in his breast. "I'm thinking you can rebuild her for me. Am I right?"

Illyana stared for a moment. An entirely new aspect of her future suddenly rolled forth in front of her. _Unexpected opportunities... you seize them or they are gone forever._ She chuckled. "Boys and their toys. I can use a driver accustomed to dangerous paths. I will pay you enough to rebuild or replace her."

Bob shook his head. "No. You bring her back, just like she was, you get my memory. I don't want money, I - I can make money. I want my car back. You do that, and hire me on, I'll drive for you."

Illyana frowned, intrigued. "I can make no promises until I see what is left of her for myself." She smiled. "I can see where you have her. Take my hands, gentlemen; I want this done today if at all possible."

* * *

Robert 'Skeeter Bob' Smith unlocked the door to the storage unit and winced as the odors of a very dead car billowed forth: scorched oil, burnt rubber and plastics, and the metallic tang of burnt metals. "Betsy..."

It was impossible to tell precisely what the car had been, besides large by modern standards; the blast had utterly blown the car apart, and fire had done the rest. The frame and undercarriage were still present, burnt and twisted, but everything above that level was gone, mutely testifying to the force of the blast.

Skeeter gestured to the wall, where a blackened transmission and mangled engine block were resting, along with the bumpers and what was left of the grille. "I pulled those off after the fact. They need to be mag-scanned, see if they're salvageable..."

"Was anyone killed?" Illyana asked, trying to follow the car's timeline. She was getting different impressions...

"Not that I know of." Skeeter answered.

The blast had happened only five weeks earlier. "How did you get the remains back so fast?"

Mack answered. "The cops were never called. Not much happens on the docks without somebody's permission, and no one wanted the heat. So some calls were made, and... here we are."

"Do you know who did this?" She asked. The trunk and the entire back seat had been loaded...

Skeeter sounded miserable. "No one did. I was moving a bunch of Scooter's stuff for him, and we stopped to get some food." He gestured helplessly. "Pure blind luck... I was the one who was hungry, but I didn't have any money, so Scooter was buying..."

Illyana looked at him skeptically. "You left the better part of a thousand pounds of chemicals, parts, and completed explosives unattended to get pizza, instead of waiting in the car while Scooter got it to go."

Skeeter just looked at her. "Well... yeah. It was all boxed up, everyone knew whose car it was, and I was really hungry..."

Scooter shifted uncomfortably, and Illyana could read bone-deep guilt in the man. It had been unintentional, she saw as she concentrated further; a bottle had leaked in a box, and started the chain of events. But there was something... she focused her sight, not on the car's timeline, but on the aether.

"Gods float dreaming in the Void..." She spun and stared at Skeeter, her eyes blazing yellow as she glanced from him to the wreckage and back. He froze, his desperate, hopeless need in his eyes and his heart in his mouth as he viscerally realized just what he might be appealing to. But when Illyana spoke, her voice was unexpectedly gentle. "You really loved her, didn't you?" Skeeter nodded convulsively, not even caring how pathetic it sounded - because in her voice, it didn't. Her voice held only compassion and understanding.

"I cannot repair her; too much of her physical form was consumed by the fire. But her anima has survived, as burnt and torn as she is, sustained by your tears, your blood... your devotion. You will drive for me? Knowing what I am, you will drive for me?"

Skeeter's voice was firm, even as the tears welled and hope blazed impossibly. "How far you wanna go?"

Illyana's voice held amusement. "How much you want to risk?"

"You fix my car, you treat us all good, I'm your guy. Ain't like Heaven's waiting for me anyway."

Illyana's voice was suddenly, unutterably unamused. "And do you two agree to this?"

The three men looked at each other in a moment of silent communication, and all three nodded. "You fix his car, you treat us all good, we're your guys." Mack said. Scooter nodded agreement.

 **"DONE."** The word rang and echoed. "There are far more Heavens than merely the one, I promise you... and not all of them as exclusive as you fear. Close the door." Mack obeyed, and as he did, Illyana summoned her cellphone, and keyed in an impossible number. "Frankie? Illyana. I'm calling in my favor. I need a car rebuilt. Yes, now. Yes, we're secure. Thank you."

A garage door that had not been present a moment earlier rattled up in the wall opposite the unit's entrance, revealing a service bay in the middle of a row of similar bays, in an enormous garage with a central office. In one bay, a completely chromed APC stood with the cannon removed. In another, a hot pink tank with purple tiger stripes was apparently having her fluids changed. In a third, an Aston Martin convertible was having its suspension replaced. In a fourth, an antique cherry red Corvette convertible was having a series of nasty dings along it's rear driver's side panel removed - they looked somewhat like what bullet strikes would look like on painted armor, but of course a Corvette was far too lightweight in it's construction for that...

In the bay facing them, half a dozen goblins in jumpsuits sat on overturned oil drums playing cards around a tool cart. One was putting a cell phone away. "I'm out, boyz - go ahead, finish da hand. Den dere'll be work ta do." He ambled out, chewing on an oily looking cigar. He looked the wreckage over, taking note of the ruined engine and transmission against the wall, ashed his cigar, and whistled softly. "Ouch..." He looked up at Illyana. "Good evening, Lady Rasputin. Da Boss said you'd be callin' tonight. I'm guessin' dis is da patient?"

"Yes. Full nine yards, Frankie. Full. Nine. Yards. Do me proud."

Frankie bowed, and when he came up, his grin had teeth. "Like I roll any othah way..." He looked the three men over. "Okay, which a youse da owner?"

Skeeter raised his hand hesitantly. "I - I am."

Frankie drew hard on his cigar, then spoke, smoke billowing between his teeth as he did. "You are... but not entirely. You ain't da only one, are ya?"

Mack spoke up impatiently. "Me and Scooter both worked on her a lot, if that's what you mean... but Betsy was his, and anyone who tries to say otherwise is lying."

The goblin grinned. "Hah. I knew it. All t'ree 'a youse worked on 'er, sweated on 'er, cursed on 'er... an' bled on 'er. Am I right?"

The three men nodded, and Frankie turned to Illyana. "I'm gonna need all three of 'em, milady. We'll get 'em back to you as good as they are now, if not a bit better, likely wit' da car. Izzat acceptable?"

"Entirely, Frankie. Go with him, do as he says. You represent me, now. Above all, do not leave the garage except in his company. I'll see you when Betsy is once more whole."

* * *

After she collected the memory from Skeeter, and sent the three men and the wreckage to the Times Squared Garage, Illyana stood in the reeking storage unit - and considered her options. She was now at a wall; she needed Batman, his deductive abilities, his irreproducible databases and accesses... his experience. The problem was how to privately contact him: she did NOT want another run-in with an enraged Justice League, and showing up on the metaphorical doorstep of either their orbital clubhouse or his home seemed just the way to do so.

The Clock Tower was out as well, and for the same reasons. During her unintended jaunt to the future, she had learned that the Clock Tower was not just a superhero base; it was the home of Barbara Gordon, who was Oracle, and Dick Grayson, who was Nightwing. Illyana would go a long and ugly mile to avoid endangering that priceless future in which their daughter hugged her leg in love and trust and called her 'Aunt Illy'.

She found herself looking at her cellphone. _Could it be as easy as - that...?_

It turned out that it was.

* * *

Batman and Catwoman had been working in full dress for over two hours, auditing thumbnails and abstracts sent over from Titan's Tower and the Watchtower. Beast Boy had recruited several of the younger Leaguers and independents they bankrolled, anyone with an interest in comic books, and the result was a near flood of rather disjointed reports of Mephisto's activities and acts across forty years of comic books. Selina had been almost amused at first, but the grim concentration Bruce had focused on the task had convinced her otherwise, and now the two of them were making notes and highlights and passing them back and forth between the two workstations. Selina quickly caught on to the common themes of the stories, and the growing realization of what Bruce had to be thinking spurred her on. She did not look behind her; if he was right, there would be no point in doing so, and if he was not, then there would be no point in it either.

"Sir, there is a telephone call for you. It was rerouted from Wayne Enterprises. The number has been flagged by Ms. Gordon as being the burner phone being used by Ms. Rasputin." Alfred's voice was calm and unflappable; putting a Hell Lord on hold, just another Tuesday...

"Route it down here, Alfred. And thank you. I've been expecting it." He keyed up the microphone. "Ms. Rasputin?"

"Mr. Wayne, thank you for taking my call. I wonder if I might drop in? We really need to talk."

"I agree, Ms. Rasputin. I believe I have the name of your summoner. Please, be my guest."

A portal flared into being on the turntable for the Batmobile, and Illyana stepped thru, clad in jeans and a demure blouse. "I accept, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for inviting me on short notice."

"Hardly short notice, Ms. Rasputin." Bruce said as he drew his cowl over his forehead and it sealed. The voice modulator came online, and Batman was present. "This has been nearly inevitable ever since last night."

"So - who?" replied Illyana.

Batman gestured at the memory impression recorder's playback helmet. "Play that, assuming you can drop your mind shields, and you'll see Raven's vision in all it aspects. Though I think you'll find it obvious in hindsight."

Batman and Catwoman stood together as Illyana reviewed the memory recording. As they waited, Catwoman clipped in the claws that Illyana had altered. Batman was wearing a heavy combat belt, but he knew he had nothing of any special effectiveness - except his contacts. Whether they would do any good in the short term remained to be seen... but no matter what happened here, they would be alerted. Oddly, he was content to have Catwoman beside him - come what may, they would face it together. He took comfort in the thought.

The first sign that Illyana was done with the playback was the smell of scorching concrete and burning plastic. Tentacles of smoke rose from the helmet in Illyana's hands as she became Magik: burning yellow eyes without pupils, blond hair moving in arcane breezes even as black bars erupted from her hair like some bizarre combination of horns and hairpins. Skintight leather-looking tights with the inner curves of her breasts and her abdomen bared had taken the place of her civilian attire. Magik spoke one word, a name. A name Selina had never heard before this morning. The level of rage that suffused the pronouncement was palpable.

" _ **Mephisto."**_

A long sigh of resignation filled the Batcave. Catwoman and Batman turned to see Batman's shadow stretch impossibly, and then pull itself from the cave wall and morph into a tall man, red of flesh.

He had wild and crazy long black hair with impossibly moving red highlights, as though oil moved atop shadow. He wore a tattered red cloak, with no hint of what might be beneath it's folds. Modest horns, and merely the faintest whiff of evil. One would never call him dapper, but his impact was undeniable. His fingers were elegantly long, and tipped with talons. He had a voice like a carpet of finely crushed broken glass suspended in gel, smooth and finely modulated... and hinting at unfathomable depths of horror and suffering.

"Greatest detective indeed." Was his droll comment. "Might I inquire, Mr. Wayne, as to what gave me away?"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Nothing in this universe knew of Magik as an actual entity, and who else from hers might have the ability, the power, and the guile to bring her here?"

A bitter smile of unwilling acceptance acknowledged Batman's explanation, and smoke slid from Mephisto's nostrils as if he smoked a cigarette.

Magik spoke at last. "Bastard!" Which only earned her a condescending look.

"yana, 'yana, 'yana… Is that the best you can do? Really?" Amusement shot through Mephisto's comment. "And not even an accurate appellation. Why not really show these good people just what you look like when everything's is torn away? No? Allow me, then."

Mephisto waved one hand, exactly like a stage magician cueing the reveal. There was a soundless burst of heat and light, like white phosphorus, and Magik was transformed yet again.

She still had a female form, still with goat-hooved feet, but the extra joint was now missing. She was garbed from neck to knees in a spiky black armored body suit. Her hands were still roughly human in structure, but were far more monstrous, with reddish, hairy skin. A smear of flame roughly followed the form of a monstrously wide sword.

Her head had become a skull-like mask with horns, wreathed in a mass of flames. She had no eyes, just burning pits seemingly akin to openings into a blast furnace. Her mouth was a pit of conflagration.

"There's the 'yana we all so know and love." purred Mephisto. "That's what's kicking back in this universe of yours, Mr. Wayne. Just one temper tantrum away from burning everything to the ground… just like that quaint asylum you kept repopulating." Mephisto moved towards the Batmobile. "Ohhh, now that's a car. Very nice, Mr. Wayne. I have a modified Veyron, myself, I'd love to race... for pinks, of course? Not like you can't afford it..."

He focused on Illyana again. "But I forget myself. My apologies, 'yana. The asylum was... competently executed, I must admit. Not quite what I thought you'd do... but in the long run, more inspirational for when you take this world for your own." He waited a beat for a response, then cut in just before Illyana could deliver any such. "Oh, pshaw, 'yana. Not like you haven't done it before, eh?"

"Don't listen to him, Illyana." Selena spat out in reply as Magik remained silent. "The only thing I see is this bastard keeping your distance from your sword."

Mephisto smiled in apparent amusement. "That from the - woman, I could use other words but I won't - who has spent her entire life avoiding fights in order to enrich herself at the expense of others." He glanced at Batman. "What do you see in her, Mr. Wayne? Courage? She has none, at the end of the day. Skill, oh, that I'll grant, but when the chips are down, she runs; it's all she really knows how to do. Well, that, and theft, and murder, of course... but so what? A penny the hundredweight, where I come from. No better than wellborn white trash. Shouldn't you be stealing something, Ms. Kyle, instead of - oh wait, of course, of course... Just be sure she signs the prenup, eh, Mr. Wayne? Just think of how she could cripple you otherwise..."

Batman turned to Catwoman; incongruously, his lip was quirking in that way that indicated he was amused. "It seems you lack... complexity, Selina."

Selina giggled, took in Mephisto's sneer, and her giggle became a full laugh. "Look at him! God, he looks just like Lex does when he knows he's missed something..." She straightened, and all amusement drained from her expression and voice. "Cheap shot, Mephisto. Worthlessly so. Bruce and I discussed that weeks ago. We've got an entire array of protocols ready, depending on who brings that very point up and how."

Mephisto accepted the riposte in seeming good humor and returned his attention to Magik, who had regained control of her form.

"Illyana, you've come so far. The delight in harming those who would harm you. The rejection of those who profess love... after all, is not all love ultimately merely a pack of self serving and self deluding lies? It all stems from lust, of course... But then it all went south. I blame Dormammu and his idiotically overblown, thuggish ways. His attempt to end you was such a _blithering_ mistake. All it did was finish the job of reintegration of your soul, and fix that little perceptional issue you were having."

"Killing and eating Dormammu, now, that was just entailed, after all that had gone before. No one will ever fault you for that, except perhaps the ignorant do-gooders with no concept of long-term consequences. Certainly I won't. But since then…? Backsliding. Such backsliding. And you _know_ it will just result in more grief for you, don't you? Mephisto's voice was plaintive on the last , as if trying to convince Magik of something obvious. "It doesn't _matter_ what you do, 'yana, your actions will _always_ be misunderstood; it's your curse. That cleanup of the potential Gateway, does _he_ -" Mephisto gestured at Batman - " have any understanding of just what you may have prevented from wandering in? Do any of them? Of course not. And would any of them care, if they did? Why should they? Because you actually were trying to do the right thing? As if there is any such thing..."

Mephisto gave a heavy sigh, that echoed about the Batcave.

"Such a waste. One moment you're killing whoever Scott says to kill - you do remember those prisoners you sent into Limbo to die, don't you, 'yana? Mustn't forget them; you can't recall them forth if you don't recall them, if you follow me..."Mephisto's chuckle echoed eerily, as though the Batcave had massively expanded. "That's one of the things about Limbo, Mr. Wayne; it's almost impossible to permanently die there. The ruler of the Realm can always pluck you from the timestream, which is handy when you need some deniable asset... or an afternoon's entertainment."

Catwoman and Batman were so of one mind, it was as though Batman was speaking with Catwoman's voice. "Words. Merely words... you're trying to provoke us, trying to get us to doubt her. But why bother? Why would you go to all this trouble?"

Illyana had dispelled the seeming Mephisto had laid on her, although she still retained the majority of her Darkchilde form. "He wants _me_ , Catwoman. He wants me to Fall."

Mephisto shook his head tiredly. "Evolve, my dear. Not Fall. Fall is _so_ judgmental. So... indicative of moral fantasies. We all have to grow up sometime. Riddle me this, Batman, to quote another excellent prospect from hereabouts; one devil to another, how are you or Miss Rasputin any different from me? Hells are ruled by fear and terror and power... as in _precisely_ how you deal with the Gotham underworld. Do you coddle them, or do you beat them nigh on to senselessness? Exactly. That fear in their eyes, how good does that taste, eh?" Mephisto's eyes briefly closed in pleasure before reopening, gleaming with malicious enjoyment. "Dangled anyone over a roof top lately? Knocked out any teeth? Crushed any fingers, broken many limbs? Got to keep on top of these things, my good man. There's a quota to be kept, if you want to maintain a reputation for fearsomeness. I know, 'yana knows, and you know, deep down, just how good it feels to hurt them, to feel them squirm in terror and hopelessness. The joy and satisfaction in their weakness after they break... to know just how well we are feared."

He chuckled. "Now, 'yana just doesn't get into that nearly as much as she should, in my opinion; she just goes for the kill more often than not, takes her pleasure in the bathing in blood, and doesn't even bother with the souls. Fun, I suppose, but over far too soon for me. I suppose when one controls Limbo, one has that luxury - after all, very little is truly forever there, so collecting the souls is a rather pointless activity - they just keep reincarnating, and don't even forget anything! Ah, but pain and suffering... that _sticks_ with one, doesn't it, 'yana? She dabbles, Mr. Wayne, but it's crude and overdone stuff, honestly. Anyone can start with red hot pokers. I know who's more experienced in the arts of torture - I beg your pardon, sir. Enhanced interrogation techniques, my apologies. I forget myself. Must use the proper terms, so much rides on appearances with your colleagues."

Batman replied composedly. "I know what I do. But it's necessary. And I've never killed."

The statement prompted a viscous chuckle from Mephisto, like treacle. "I do so love moral certainties... As if death is the worst thing that can happen to anyone. Death as a state of being is painless, Batman. Life is very much otherwise. But please, do keep playing the policeman. Yana doesn't, she fights wars, although I'm most disappointed that she lately appears to be adopting more of your philosophy. You could ask Diana about fighting wars? Or do you just think she only swats things with that sword of hers? Or your Atlantean king, for that matter. They both have trails of bodies that are impressive... but I suppose you try not to think about that. Don't worry, everyone's intentions are good, I'm sure. I'll never criticize; I'm a big believer in the end justifying the means."

He chuckled again. "Mr. Wayne has so much to teach you concerning hurting others, 'yana my sweet. I promise you. The drive, the directness, the lack of compassion, those you have in Spades, but the precision, the understandings of proportion, or perhaps scale... I'm not using the right word. The exactness, 'yana. Knowing what he wants to achieve, and not going overboard one iota. Magnificent, I say; the mark of a Leader. Cannon fodder is a dime a million in hell, but a General? Generals are rare, Mr. Wayne. And one such as you… Well, let's just say our legions await. It's the passionate ones who will do anything for what they perceive as the greater good who always make the best Generals. Those who rant and rage against the unfairness of the universe. With those I will someday tear down the walls of the various Heavens, and make them all mine."

"You know nothing of me." Batman growled. "Leave."

Mephisto laughed, and in the far distances, the echoes were as if multitudes laughed with him. But the echoes died away, and the normal sounds of the Batcave reasserted themselves. "Nothing? I was once one such as you, sir. Who do you think helped secure the Elder Gods, and eradicate their influences, eh? But my methodologies were disputed, and the rest is ancient history. You won't find any of _that_ in any monthly periodical hereabouts, I promise you. You know practically nothing of me, Mr. Wayne. But I know _everything_ there is to know about you, _and_ _ **I like what I see."**_

Batman had a good idea of why Mephisto was baiting them so. "Magik. Am I correct in that he can only apply as much force as is directed against him?"

Magik smiled, white teeth gleaming. "That is precisely correct, Batman. And now that he has been instructed to leave by one who lives here, he must. It's why the echoes have returned to normal."

Batman turned to Mephisto. "You were summoned as well; it's the only way you would have come here. And you haven't consummated your summoning any more than she has."

Mephisto's smile was broad and satisfied. "You like to collect things, Mr. Wayne; so do I. It simply takes a bit of time for them to all bring themselves to the proper place at the proper time. One can't blame me for entertaining myself in the meantime, and trying to bring a younger protégé along, eh? Well, well... Just look at the time. You know how it is, Mr. Wayne: Places to go, people to see, things to do. Elsewhere, as requested by your Lady. Keep up the good work, and I'll have a position waiting for you..."

Selina couldn't help it; she laughed at Mephisto again, knowing he would not forget or forgive. "Oh my God, that's rich. As if you have any authority or power over either of us. Play it off how you will, Mephisto, you've lost here, and you know it. Just go. Even Penguin three quarters sloshed can come up with better repartee than ' Well, well, look at the time...'." Selina fixed Mephisto with a gimlet eye. "Leave. You are not welcome here. God, next you'll be using the line about omelets and eggs. Pfffff..."

Mephisto turned silently, venomously, and walked into the darkness. A soundless echo warranted that he had departed.


End file.
